LIGHT  ON 


"I   don't    want   to    be    no    Big-Governor- Afraid-of-the-Cottonwood- 

Stump,  do  I,  Uncle  Mac  ?  " 

(Page  45) 


UNCLE    MAC'S 
NEBRASKY 


BY 

William    R.  Lighten 

WITH    FRONTISPIECE    BY  W.   HERBERT    DUNTON 


NEW   YORK 

HENRY   HOLT  AND   COMPANY 

1904 


COPYRIGHT,  1904 

BY 
HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 

Published  A^ril,  1004 


a  <f.~~< 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     THE  MAN  AND  His  TIME i 

II.  THE  HONOUR  OF  A  TRANSGRESSOR          .          .          .12 

III.  BIG-GOVERNOR-AFRAID       .....       42 

IV.  A  CUPFUL  OF  SUGAR          .           ....        74 
V.  A  ROMANCE  IN  RED  AND  WHITE         .          .               101 

VI.  LAW-ABIDING  CITIZENS      .          .          .          .          .131 

VII.  THE  CASE  OF  PRIVATE  SAM  WEEKS      .          .          .153 


M513154 


UNCLE  MAC'S  NEBRASKY 


fttme 

DO  you  remember  what  Sairey  Gamp's 
traducer  said  of  the  oft-quoted  Mrs. 
Harris  ? — "  I  don't  believe  there  is  no  sich 
a  person."  Maybe  you  will  want  to  say 
something  like  that  about  Uncle  Mac,  look- 
ing upon  him  as  just  one  more  fictitious 
"  character  "  bred  for  the  market.  Well,  I 
wish  I  had  invented  him.  But,  take  my 
word  for  it,  he's  sound  flesh  and  blood  and 
bone,  five  feet  ten  in  his  home-knit  woollen 
socks,  a  hundred  and  ninety  pounds  avoirdu- 
pois, and  every  inch  and  every  ounce  a  man. 
Three  years  more  and  he  will  stand  upon 
the  pinnacle  of  threescore  and  ten;  but  with 
his  ruddy  cheeks,  his  clear,  lively  eyes,  the 
robust,  virile  lift  of  his  broad  shoulders,  the 
strong,  forward  fling  of  his  step,  and  the  un- 
diminished  ardour  of  his  love  of  life,  he 


2         The  Man  and  His  Time 

could  pass  for  fifty  anywhere,  if  he  chose. 
His  manhood  is  of  the  hardy  outdoor  kind; 
heaven's  sun  has  shone  upon  him  from  his 
boyhood,  giving  him  of  its  vitality ;  heaven's 
rains  and  heaven's  winds  have  kept  him 
clean;  through  years  and  years  he  slept  o' 
nights  upon  the  open  ground,  under  the  open 
sky,  soaking  in  health  at  every  pore;  and 
now  it  is  good  to  look  upon  him,  good  to 
feel  the  iron  grip  of  his  big  hand  and  to 
hear  the  iron  ring  of  his  big  voice. 

He  came  West  from  Indiana  in  '55,  when 
this  land  was  new  and  rude,  and,  as  men  like 
to  say,  lawless.  There  was  no  law  then  but 
the  Ten  Commandments  and  that  native 
sense  of  integrity  which  every  natural  man 
carries  about  with  him  inside  his  shirt. 
Nowadays  living  is  called  an  art,  and  there 
are  books  full  of  queer  little  rules  for  its 
practice.  What  humbug!  As  if  righteous- 
ness was  ever  yet  learned  by  rule!  There 
was  no  such  silly  belief  in  the  old  days  out 
West.  Then  behaviour  was  a  matter  of  in- 


The  Man  and  His  Time          3 

spiration ;  then  there  was  no  art  in  living  but 
to  live;  and  men  did  not  go  to  the  statute- 
books  for  their  ideals  or  their  faith.  Uncle 
Mac  has  a  drastic  contempt  for  codes  and 
lawmakers  and  lawyers.  What's  the  good 
of  them?  he  wants  to  know.  In  his  day 
honest  men  made  honest  bargains  about  the 
business  of  life,  and  then  kept  faith  with  one 
another,  and  that  was  all  there  was  to  it. 
"  It  worked  first-rate,  too,"  says  Uncle  Mac. 
"  It  worked  a  heap  better  than  these  new- 
fangled notions  do.  I'd  rather  have  a  man 
on  his  honour  than  on  his  oath,  any  day,  if 
he's  a  real  man." 

And  as  to  himself,  he  is  a  noble  fruit  of 
the  old  order  of  things — staunch,  fearless, 
strong,  steadfast.  All  the  cardinal  virtues 
of  manhood  are  his,  from  A  to  Izzard.  But, 
once  again,  he  is  no  doctrinaire  in  virtue; 
he  has  the  knack  of  it,  that's  all — a  knack 
got  by  much  hard,  painful  practice.  And 
vices?  No,  I  give  you  my  word,  not  one! 
It  seems  contemptible  to  speak  of  vices  in 


4         The  Man  and  His  Time 

relation  to  one  so  wholly  natural  and  moral 
and  honest.  What  are  the  so-called  vices 
of  sound  health  but  virtues  viewed  through 
the  darkened  spectacles  of  the  morally  weak- 
eyed?  He  has  lived  from  first  to  last  as  a 
man  ought.  His  blood  runs  free  in  his 
veins,  and  the  fire  of  healthy  desires  has  been 
kept  always  warmly  aglow  in  his  heart.  On 
occasion  his  eyes  can  blaze  with  passionate 
anger,  and  his  tongue  can  rip  out  a  good, 
stout,  crashing  oath — one  of  the  chain-shot 
order,  fired  with  lots  of  powder.  I  like  to 
hear  him  swear,  when  there's  anything  to 
swear  about;  it  always  makes  me  feel  as  if 
the  wrong  were  half  righted  already.  Mild 
saintliness  isn't  in  his  make-up,  nor  any 
cheap  trick  of  pious  pretension.  He  doesn't 
hesitate  to  make  an  enemy  now  and  then, 
when  the  signs  are  right  for  it.  "  Half  the 
game  is  being  sure  you've  got  plenty  of  just 
the  right  kind  of  enemies,"  he  said  once; 
and  again :  "  Sometimes,  when  I've  felt 
like  I  wanted  a  little  good,  swift  trouble,  to 


The  Man  and  His  Time         5 

tone  me  up,  I've  turned  the  other  cheek,  the 
way  they  tell  about — and  then  coaxed  the 
other  feller  into  slappin'  it.  Keeps  the  rule, 
don't  you  see  ?  and  gives  you  your  fight  too." 
And  he  loves  a  fight,  when  there  is  good 
reason.  But  there  is  nothing  little  or  mean 
or  morbid  in  his  temper.  He  knows  the 
trick  of  forgiveness  and  practises  it  nobly, 
when  the  occasion  for  a  fight  is  past.  Best 
of  all,  he  never  bothers  to  debate  whether 
his  impulses  are  according  to  the  books  or 
no;  it  suffices  him  to  follow  without  fear 
where  they  lead.  If  you  offend  against  his 
sense  of  decency  he  will  lay  upon  you  the 
blistering  lash  of  his  wrath ;  or  if  you  are  in 
want  he  will  give  you  the  coat  off  his  back. 
The  need  of  the  occasion  is  his  sole  guide  in 
conduct;  that  is  all  he  knows  of  the  art  of 
life. 

What  a  time  it  was,  that  of  the  pioneers ! 
And  what  men  they  were  to  match  it! 
When  the  Kansas-Nebraska  bill  was  passed, 
between  the  Missouri  and  the  Pacific  lay  a 


6         The  Man  and  His  Time 

virgin  wilderness,  passionately  awaiting 
those  wha  would  come  to  woo,  ready  to 
yield  herself  utterly,  splendidly,  when  she 
was  won.  In  our  day  she  has  become  a 
staid  matron,  sobered  by  the  multiplied  cares 
of  maternity,  so  that  it  is  hard  to  realise  the 
lusty  wildness  of  her  unconquered  youth. 
To-day  her  fruits  feed  half  the  earth;  but 
when  Uncle  Mac  first  set  foot  in  Nebraska 
not  a  plough  had  yet  scratched  the  soil. 
Never  were  greater  opportunities.  Strength, 
sheer  strength  of  body  and  mind  and  soul, 
was  the  quality  needful  for  transmuting  op- 
portunity into  achievement, — for  belting  a 
wide  half-continent  with  railways,  turning 
the  prairie  sod  into  farms,  founding  cities, 
making  out  of  that  chaos  an  orderly  empire, 
rich  in  all  good  things.  After  a  short  half- 
century  it  is  done ;  but  it  was  a  task  for  men, 
not  for  weaklings.  Weaklings  came  hither, 
of  course,  as  camp-followers  of  the  strong; 
but  they  died  out  or  else  went  back  home 
to  their  folks,  and  only  the  mighty  were  left 


The  Man  and  His  Time         7 

— the  born  fighters,  those  who  could  do 
battle  with  their  destiny  in  such  jocund 
mood  as  feared  neither  life  nor  death. 

From  the  very  first  Uncle  Mac  was  in  the 
foremost  rank,  fighting,  throwing  his  whole 
soul  into  it.  His  motives?  He  didn't 
know  that  he  had  any.  Do  you  question 
the  sun  and  the  rain  about  their  motives? 
His  every  fibre  tingled  with  the  matchless 
ecstasy  of  vigorous  youth.  His  feet  were 
hot  with  the  fever  of  the  wanderlust;  and 
here  were  a  couple  of  million  square  miles 
untrodden.  Every  wind  was  heavy-laden 
with  siren-songs;  every  fair,  round  hill- 
breast,  seductively  half-veiled  in  the  mists  of 
distance,  charmed  his  sight  and  kindled  his 
desire;  the  very  stars  of  the  night  were  as 
languorous,  living  eyes,  enticing  him  to 
come  and  know  what  it  meant  to  live.  What 
choice  had  he  but  to  go  and  go  and  go? 
Some  went  in  quest  of  wealth — not  he. 
Others'  desire  was  for  power  or  place  or 
prestige — not  his.  With  him  it  was  noth- 


8         The  Man  and  His  Time 

ing  less  than  the  pure  joy  of  life  itself  for 
its  -own  sweet  sake.  Love  he  knew,  and 
hate,  and  every  great  passion  that  goes  to 
make  up  the  sum  of  a  brave  life's  round. 
Daring  and  danger  he  faced;  and  half  a 
score  of  times  he  laughed  defiance  in  the 
grim  countenance  of  Death.  His  youth  was 
spent  gloriously. 

Nor  was  it  all  a  boy's  aimless  quest  for 
adventure.  He  did  his  work.  Three  times 
he  went  afoot,  beside  his  ox-teams,  from 
Omaha  to  San  Francisco  and  back  again, 
freighting  supplies  to  the  outposts  of  civili- 
sation; for  five  long  years  he  served  in  the 
Army  of  the  Frontier,  fighting  the  terrible 
Sioux  and  their  allies;  he  helped  to  string 
the  wires  for  the  first  transcontinental  tele- 
graph; he  aided  in  the  building  of  a  half 
dozen  towns  that  are  now  vain  of  their  im- 
portance. And  through  it  all  he  kept  his 
honesty  spotless  and  his  name  respected  of 
men.  He  lived  and  laboured  as  became  an 
American  pioneer. 


The  Man  and  His  Time         9 

But  it  is  finished.  Slowly,  subtly,  under 
the  inexplicable  necromancy  of  years,  his 
visions  have  become  dreams.  They  are 
good  dreams,  but  quieter,  soberer.  He 
loves  life  as  of  old,  but,  somehow,  he  seems 
to  have  dropped  out  of  the  hurrying  pro- 
cession, standing  aside  and  watching  it  go 
by.  Swift  changes  have  come  over  tfie 
spirit  of  the  West.  Destiny  has  set  new 
tasks,  and  new  men,  with  another  order  of 
genius,  have  arisen  to  perform  them.  Uncle 
Mac  pleases  himself  with  the  fancy  that  he 
keeps  a  firm  hold  upon  affairs ;  but  it  must  be 
that  in  his  thoughtful  hours  he  is  aware  of 
the  innocent  self-deception,  and  this  con- 
sciousness imparts  the  only  tinge  of  melan- 
choly his  wholesome  soul  knows. 

He  has  never  cared  to  be  rich,  but  Fortune 
has  been  genuinely  kind  to  him,  giving  him 
enough  for  all  his  simple  needs,  with  some- 
thing to  spare  for  those  who  have  not  fared 
so  well;  and  his  profoundest  joy  is  in  giv- 
ing. His  home  is  an  old-fashioned  house  of 


io       The  Man  and  His  Time 

stone  and  logs  set  in  the  middle  of  ten  acres 
of  orchard  and  garden,  on  the  edge  of  a 
half-formed  town  an  hour's  ride  from 
Omaha.  There  his  days  are  spent,  not  in 
idleness,  but  busily,  in  the  sort  of  labour  he 
loves  best.  It  is  very  fitting.  He  is  out  of 
doors,  with  his  feet  squarely  planted  on  the 
good  earth,  and  with  the  prairie  winds 
touching  his  face  as  with  the  kiss  of  a 
friend,  while  each  morning  and  evening, 
and  each  slow,  sweet  change  of  season 
brings  him  gently  a  little  nearer  the  end. 

He  loves  children,  and  the  love  is 
strengthening  with  the  years,  as  he  grows 
into  closer  sympathy  with  their  simplicity 
of  spirit.  If  you  would  see  him  at  his  best, 
go  into  his  apple-orchard  on  a  hot  summer 
afternoon,  when  the  sun  has  driven  him 
from  his  work.  There  you  will  find  him 
stretched  at  his  length  upon  the  thick  grass, 
taking  his  ease,  with  a  happy,  noisy  horde 
about  him,  eating  his  apples,  sporting  in  the 
grateful  shade,  fighting  their  little  battles, 


The  Man  and  His  Time       1 1 

or  gathering  in  a  rapt,  enchanted  circle,  beg- 
ging the  old  man  for  a  story.  And  the 
stories  he  tells- are  all  of  the  golden  days 
when  life  loomed  big  before  him,  crying  its 
challenge.. 


II 

ibonour  of  a  ^Transgressor 

UNCLE  MAC'S  vineyard  lies  upon  a 
hillside,  just  out  of  sight  from  his 
house;  and  as  a  matter  of  course  it  suffers 
at  the  hands  of  every  rapscallion  and  tatter- 
demalion in  the  town.  As  a  rule  the 
good  old  man  makes  no  complaint,  beyond 
a  mouthful  or  two  of  speech  in  the  privacy 
of  his  own  hearthside;  only  once  have  I 
known  him  to  be  much  perturbed.  He  had 
planned  to  exhibit  at  the  State  Fair  some 
baskets  of  Golden  Pocklingtons,  and  had 
tied  the  selected  bunches  in  bags  of  netting, 
to  protect  them  from  the  birds;  but  the 
urchins  from  the  "  Bohemian  Settlement " 
beyond  the  hill,  in  their  daily  thievings  made 
choice  of  these  bunches,  knowing  them  to  be 
the  best.  Uncle  Mac  was  first  saddened, 
then  irritated;  and  then  one  day  I  saw  him 

12 


The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor    1 3 

down  town,  buying  fence-posts  and  barbed 
wire.  Never  before  had  he  fenced  so  much 
as  a  square  yard  of  hi  land. 

A  week  afterward  I  found  him  toiling  in 
the  autumn  sunlight,  reeling  up  the  wire 
which  a  couple  of  men  were  pulling  from 
the  newly-made  fence.  He  straightened  his 
portly  figure,  wiping  the  dripping  moisture 
from  his  big  forehead;  then  he  led  the  way 
to  the  shade  of  a  near-by  tree,  where  we  sat 
down  together. 

"  Didn't  it  suit  you?  "  I  asked. 

"What?  The  fence?  Yes,  sure;  'twas 
a  bully  fence."  Then  came  a  pause,  while 
he  mopped  at  his  face  with  needless  insist- 
ence. 

"I  reckon  boys  is  different  from  pretty 
much  every  animal  there  is,"  he  said  at  last. 
"  Don't  the  Bible  say  somethin'  somewheres 
about  sufferin'  little  kids  in  the  kingdom 
of  heaven?  I've  just  been  findin'  out  why 
that  is.  The  walls  of  the  New  Jerusalem 
might  be  made  hog-tight  and  six  rods  high, 


14    The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor 

and  yet  it  wouldn't  be  no  manner  of  use  to 
try  to  keep  the  kids  out.  Old  Saint  Peter 
couldn't  do  it,  nor  Paul,  nor  Pontius  Pilate : 
nobody  couldn't." 

I  kept  grave  silence,  knowing  that  in  the 
fulness  of  time  things  would  be  revealed. 
The  old  man  glanced  at  me  now  and  again, 
furtively,  shamefacedly;  then  he  laughed, 
with  a  frank  return  to  his  dominant  humour. 

"  'Twas  the  same  way  with  me,  once. 
There  wa'n't  no  fence  ever  made  that  could 
Ve  kept  me  out  of  nowhere.  I've  spent 
weeks  and  weeks,  I  reckon,  climbin'  fences 
to  get  into  places  I  wouldn't  've  cared  a  lick 
about,  if  only  I  hadn't  been  shut  out  of  'em. 
Why,  the  day  after  I  put  this  fence  up, 
there  was  more  grapes  stole  than  there  ever 
was  in  a  whole  week  before.  I  had  to  take 
it  down  in  self-protection:  see?  Trouble 
.was,"  he  added  abruptly,  "  'twas  easy 
enough  for  the  youngsters  to  get  through  the 
wires  comin'  in,  but  'twas  terrible  hard 
gettin'  out,  some  reason.  I  heard  yester- 


The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor    1 5 

day  how  the  women-folks  around  here  ain't 
done  much  else  all  week  but  lam  their  kids 
for  comin'  home  with  their  clothes  tore 
pretty  much  all  off  of  'em.  Shucks!  I 
never  did  see  the  good  of  lickin'  a  boy, 
nohow,  so  long  as  he  ain't  done  nothin'  bad. 
Poor  little  fellers!" 

Every  line  of  his  averted  face  ran  brim- 
ful of  gentle  kindness.  By  and  by  his 
broad  chest  swelled  with  a  ragged  sigh. 

"  I  was  just  thinkin' :  If  a  little  fairy  was 
to  come  along  and  gimme  three  wishes,  like 
they  used  to  tell  about,  I'd  tell  him  I  didn't 
want  but  one;  and  do  you  know  what  I'd 
wish  ?  I'd  wish  to  be  a  little,  mean,  speckle- 
faced  kid — real  downright  sassy  and  ornery 
— the  kind  of  a  youngster  that  folks  don't 
like  to  have  around,  nohow.  That's  the 
kind  of  a  little  rooster  I  used  to  be,  and  I'd 
give  half  of  what  I've  got  if  I  could  be  him 
again,  just  long  enough  to  take  another 
good  holt  on  rememberin'  how  it  feels.  I 
wouldn't  ask  for  just  the  good  part,  neither 


1 6    The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor 

— the  youngness,  and  the  don't-care;  I'd 
like  to  go  back  and  steal  a  big  mess  of  nasty, 
hard,  green  apples,  and  have  my  mother 
doctorin'  me  for  one  of  them  old-fashioned 
pains  in  my  insides.  Anything,  by  God,  so 
it  was  real  boy." 

Then,  after  a  moment's  brooding  silence : 
"  Most  boys  is  that  kind,  Billy ;  don't  you 
know  it  ?  I  never  had  no  use  for  the  sneakin' 
little  chaps  that's  got  no  bad  in  'em.  Decent 
folks  ain't  made  that  way.  Decent  folks  is 
good  and  bad  both,  mixed  up  together.  I 
like  it  that  way,  too,  because  that's  the  way 
the  Almighty  plays  the  game." 

Then  it  was  that  I  spoke  the  word  which 
provoked  the  story.  "  Uncle  Mac,  did  you 
never  come  across  a  man  who  was  all  bad?  " 

"No,"  he  answered  bluntly.  "No,  I 
ain't ;  nor  nobody  else.  Say,  wa'n't  there  an 
old  feller,  once,  in  some  of  them  foreign 
places — Hong  Kong,  or  Sweden,  or  some- 
wheres — that  hid  himself  in  a  drygoods  box 
and  pretended  to  be  huntin'  for  an  honest 


The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor    17 

man  ?  You  listen  to  me :  He  wouldn't  have 
knowed  an  honest  man  if  he'd  seen  one — 
just  because  he  didn't  believe  there  was  any. 
Why,  shucks!  he'd  have  been  out  of  a  job 
in  a  holy  minute,  if  he'd  only  been  honest 
with  himself  to  start  with.  Honest  men 
ain't  so  scarce  as  all  that.  There  ain't  one 
in  a  million  that  won't  do  the  square  thing, 
when  he's  pinched  right  down  to  it,  and  on 
his  honour."  Then,  with  kindling  warmth, 
he  struck  directly  into  his  story. 

"  Did  I  ever  tell  you  about  the  time  me 
and  Turk  Wesley  run  up  against  each  other  ? 
That  was  along  somewheres  about  '66, 
after  we'd  got  out  of  the  army,  and  just 
before  Nebrasky  come  in  as  a  State.  Things 
was  pretty  much  tore  up  out  here  west  of 
the  river,  of  course.  After  us  soldiers  was 
sent  back  home,  there  was  a  good  deal  of 
devilment — fightin',  and  thievin',  and  such- 
like, different  places.  It  wasn't  only  natural, 
and  I  reckon  it  would  've  come  out  all  right, 
after  while,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  chaps  like 


1 8    The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor 

Turk  Wesley,  that  didn't  have  a  lick  of 
sense. 

"Turk  was  one  of  them  kind  that's  always 
hankerin'  to  have  folks  think  he's  awful 
smart  and  cunnin'.  I  never  took  much 
stock  in  that  kind.  The  minute  a  feller 
begins  to  want  to  seem  smarter  than  the  rest 
of  folks,  he'll  start  off  with  tryin'  to  work 
some  big  lie  that  won't  get  found  out;  and 
that's  somethin'  that  can't  be  done.  There 
never  was  no  lie  told  yet  that  wa'n't  found 
out,  give  it  time.  No  matter  how  good  a 
one  it  is  when  it's  told,  it  won't  stay  told; 
it's  bound  to  come  loose  and  get  all  ravelled 
out.  That  was  the  trouble  with  Turk 
Wesley.  He  could  think  up  a  bran'new 
different  lie  for  every  hour  o'  the  day, — 
and  that's  the  sure  mark  of  the  man  that's 
goin'  to  meet  up  with  trouble,  some  time. 

"  Turk,  he  had  two  or  three  that  was 
pardners  with  him,  and  they  was  goin' 
around,  different  places,  workin'  their  mean 
tricks  for  a  year  or  so,  till  from  bein'  at  first 


The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor    1 9 

just  half  sneak  and  half  dead-beat,  he  come 
by  and  by  to  be  plum  tough,  not  stoppin'  at 
nothin',  not  even  at  holdin'  up  an  emigrant 
outfit  on  one  of  the  trails  and  plunderin'  the 
poor  critters  of  all  they'd  got.  But  the 
country  was  so  big,  and  settled  so  thin,  and 
not  half  governed,  he  done  pretty  much  what 
he  pleased,  seemed  like,  without  gettin' 
rounded  up.  He'd  have  pulled  through, 
somehow,  only  the  last  thing  he  done  was  to 
take  a  couple  of  his  pardners  out  to  the 
Pawnee  reservation  and  run  off  a  bunch  of 
beef-steers.  They  killed  one  feller,  too, 
while  they  was  doin'  it. 

"  The  story  got  down  to  the  river,  pretty 
soon,  account  of  the  Pawnees  bein'  in  such  a 
state  over  it,  and  hard  to  hold;  and  two  or 
three  days  after  I  run  up  against  the  United 
States  marshal,  that  I  knowed  first-rate,  up 
in  Omaha,  and  he  says,  '  Mac,  do  you  know 
Turk  Wesley?'  '  Yes,'  I  says,  'by  sight. 
I  seen  him  once,  down  to  Falls  City/ 
'  Well,  see  here,'  he  says,  '  this  thing's 


20    The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor 

makin'  a  terrible  stink,  and  there  ain't 
nothin'  for  it  but  that  Turk's  got  to  be  took, 
and  I'm  goin'  to  deputise  you  to  go  after 
him/  '  Why,  what's  the  matter  with  your 
own  boys?'  I  asked  him;  and  he  said  they 
was  all  busy — said  they'd  only  got  a  couple 
weeks  to  summon  the  jury-panel  in,  and 
they'd  got  to  ride  all  over  Kingdom  Come  to 
find  'em.  '  Can't  you  go  ?  '  he  says.  '  Oh, 
I  reckon,'  I  says.  Yes,  I'd  go,  I  told  him. 
Matter  of  fact,  I  was  willin'  enough  to  go, 
I  was  full  of  hot  blood,  them  days,  and  I 
wa'n't  married  yet,  and  didn't  have  nobody 
to  keep  me;  and  anyhow,  I'd  begun  to  get 
kind  o'  nervous,  livin'  quiet  for  a  year  or  so, 
mindin'  my  own  business,  without  no  excite- 
ment. Seemed  good  to  me  to  think  about 
goin'  out  for  a  ja'n't  like  that  on  the  prairie, 
and  I  never  took  the  trouble  to  think  about 
the  gettin'  back — like  them  kids  with  my 
fence.  So  he  app'inted  me  a  deputy,  and 
fixed  me  out  with  my  papers,  and  I  struck 
out,  horseback,  feelin'  like  a  feller  will  when 


The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor    2 1 

the  weather's  good  and  he  ain't  got  nothin' 
to  worry  him.  I  didn't  take  nobody  with 
me,  because  it  was  a  good  piece  out  to  where 
I  reckoned  I'd  begin  huntin'  for  Turk,  and 
I  thought  mebbe  I'd  get  help  out  there,  if  I 
needed  it. 

"  On  my  word,  I  didn't  have  the  first  idee 
in  this  world  where  Turk  was,  nor  where  I 
was  goin'  to  find  him,  nor  what  was  likely 
to  happen  when  I  did  find  him.  Nebrasky 
was  an  almighty  big  place,  them  days,  be- 
fore it  had  been  all  split  up  to  make  States 
out  of.  All  I  knowed  was  that  my  papers 
was  good  anywhere  in  the  Territory,  and  I 
didn't  bother  my  head  about  anything  else. 
I  don't  know :  seemed  like  'twas  a  way  we 
got  into  out  here — not  worryin'.  We  didn't 
use  to  fool  much  time  with  settin'  down  and 
frettin'  ourselves  bald-headed  about  how  we 
was  goin'  to  get  things  done;  we  was  too 
busy  with  doin'  'em.  We  always  got  out, 
somehow.  Supposin'  we'd  listened  to  them 
that  said  we  was  bound  to  starve  to  death 


22    The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor 

out  here  in  this  desert!  We  didn't  listen; 
we  didn't  never  listen  to  no  croakin'  about 
trouble. 

"  Well,  by  and  by  I  got  out  to  the  agency, 
and  had  a  little  talk  with  the  agent  about  the 
business.  He  told  me  Turk  had  been  heerd 
of,  three  or  four  different  places,  a  good 
ways  apart,  since  the  stealin'.  He  was  just 
sailin'  around,  big  as  life,  makin'  his  brags. 
Seemed  like  I  didn't  have  nothin'  else  to  do 
but  just  keep  on  a-goin',  huntin'  up  his  trail 
the  best  I  could. 

"  The  very  next  day,  a  little  bit  after  sun- 
down, I  come  to  a  dug-out,  off  beside  the 
trail,  where  a  settler  lived,  and  I  stopped 
there  for  night.  The  men-folks  was  gone 
off  somewheres,  after  grub ;  but  there  was  a 
mighty  nice,  clean  little  woman  and  a  couple 
of  half-growed  girls  messin'  around  with 
gettin'  supper.  She  told  me  'twould  be 
ready  in  a  minute,  and  I  set  my  rifle  up  in- 
side the  door  and  unhitched  my  belt  and 
dropped  it  on  the  floor,  and  then  took  my 


The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor    23 

pony  out  to  the  sod  stable,  a  hundred  yards 
or  so  from  the  house ;  and  the  little  woman, 
she  told  me  where  I'd  find  things. 

"  I'd  got  done  with  feedin'  and  waterin', 
and  was  just  forkin'  in  some  stuff  for  bed- 
din',  when  I  heerd  somebody  holler  '  Whoa !' 
to  his  horse  outside,  and  I  went  to  the  door. 
'Twas  just  one  feller,  horseback.  He'd 
turned  in  from  the  trail,  comin'  to  the  stable, 
and  when  he'd  got  up  closter  I  seen  'twas 
Turk  Wesley;  and  there  was  my  guns  layin' 
over  in  the  dug-out!  'Twas  just  light 
enough  so  as  I  could  see  Turk  had  his'n  on, 
like  everybody  wore  'em  them  days,  out  on 
the  trails. 

"  Billy,  a  man's  the  plum  foolishest  critter 
there  is — specially  a  young  one.  Why,  just 
think.  'Twould  've  been  the  easiest  thing 
in  the  world  for  me  to  have  hid  back  in  the 
dark  and  bided  my  time  till  we'd  both  got 
down  to  the  house,  after  a  while,  and  then 
took  him  regular  and  accordin'  to  Hoyle. 
He  didn't  know  there  was  any  warrant  out 


24    The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor 

for  him.  'Twould  've  been  dead  easy.  But 
it  never  come  to  me  that  way  at  all.  There 
was  Turk,  and  there  was  me,  and  the  only 
blessed  thing  I  thought  of  was  that  I'd  got  to 
nab  him  right  then.  It's  just  them  kind  o' 
things  that's  made  me  get  gray-headed, 
thinkin'  about  'em  afterwards.  I  just 
drawed  back  in  the  shadder  of  the  door,  and 
up-ended  my  hay-fork,  and  poked  the  butt- 
end  o'  the  handle  up  towards  Turk's  head, 
and  I  hollered,  real  quick,  'Hands  up, 
Turky !  You're  'rested ! '  Makes  me  laugh ! 
Of  course,  it  come  on  him  mighty  sudden, 
when  he  wasn't  lookin'  for  it,  and  he  was  a 
good  deal  of  a  loon  anyway;  and  when  he 
seen  that  fork-handle  within  a  yard  of  his 
face  his  hands  went  straight  up,  and  him 
swearin'  shameful. 

"  Well,  there  I  had  him ;  but  then  I  didn't 
know  what  to  do,  so  I  done  the  only  thing  I 
knowed :  I  says,  '  Get  down  out  of  your 
saddle,  Turky ;  lively,  now ! '  and  he  shook 
his  feet  loose  from  the  stirrups  and  hopped 


The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor    25 

down  to  the  ground,  but  keepin'  his  hands 
up  mighty  careful ;  and  then  I  says,  '  Go 
down  to  the  house,  and  don't  you  try  to 
budge  out  of  a  walk ! '  and  then  I  set  the 
fork-handle  up  against  the  small  of  his 
back  and  kep'  it  there,  and  we  went  down  to 
the  house.  When  we  got  to  the  door,  I  hol- 
lered to  the  woman,  and  when  she  come  out, 
I  never  give  her  a  chance  to  blat,  but  I  says, 
'Unhitch  this  feller's  belt,  and  take  it  off 
him,  and  give  it  to  me/  She  was  mighty 
good  about  it.  She  never  said  a  word,  but 
just  went  up  to  him  and  loosed  his  belt  and 
handed  it  over.  I'd  been  mighty  particular 
to  keep  where  he  couldn't  see  me;  and,  my 
word !  it  didn't  take  me  long  to  get  one  of  his 
guns  out  of  the  holster.  My  hands  begun  to 
shake  then,  when  'twas  over,  and  I  dropped 
the  fork.  Turk,  he  seen  it,  and  he  turned 
around  and  looked  at  me,  me  holdin'  his  pis- 
tol, and  then  he  looked  down  at  the  fork,  and 
he  says,  '  Why,  you  damned  fool !  Did  you 
Vest  me  with  that  thing?  '  '  Yep;  with  the 


26    The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor 

butt-end  of  it/  I  says.  '  You  didn't  think 
'twould  take  artillery,  did  you  ?  '  He  got  his 
mouth  part  open  to  say  something  but  he 
shut  it  up  again,  plum  disgusted,  and  he 
never  tried  to  make  a  move  while  the  little 
woman  fetched  a  lariat  and  tied  him  up,  legs 
and  arms;  and  then  I  stuck  my  hand  under 
his  arm  and  helped  him  to  hop  into  the  house 
and  set  down  over  by  the  fire. 

"  'Twas  a  mighty  good  supper  they  was 
gettin',  and  pretty  soon,  when  it  was  fixed, 
and  me  and  the  woman  and  the  girls  had  e't, 
I  fixed  a  plateful  and  set  down  alongside  of 
Turk,  to  feed  him.  I  could  see  it  galled  him 
terrible;  but  he  didn't  say  nothin'  till  he'd 
got  done,  and  then  pretty  soon  he  begun  to 
ask  what  the  trouble  was,  and  what  I  was 
goin'  to  do  with  him.  Didn't  seem  to  worry 
him  any,  when  I'd  told  him.  He  said  he'd 
always  kind  o'  leaned  on  his  luck;  and  then, 
besides,  he'd  got  some  friends  down  to 
Omaha  that  stood  in  with  the  prosecutin' 
attorney,  and  he'd  work  his  pull  and  get 


The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor    27 

loose.  Didn't  plague  him  a  speck;  the  only 
thing  that  seemed  to  hurt  was  the  hay-fork. 
After  a  bit,  when  the  men  got  home,  and  had 
e't,  and  we  set  around  the  fire,  Turk  he 
chirked  up  right  smart,  and  he  turned  in  and 
told  some  of  the  things  he'd  been  doin', 
turnin'  'em  with  the  funny  side  out,  so  no- 
body couldn't  help  laughin'  at  'em;  and  we 
set  there,  woman  and  all,  till  past  one 
o'clock,  havin'  a  real  good  time.  Company 
was  scarce,  them  days;  'twa'n't  every  day 
them  folks  in  the  dug-out  had  a  chance  to  be 
sociable.  But  by  and  by  we  turned  in,  me 
and  Turk  layin'  down  in  front  of  the  fire. 

"  We  got  started  back  towards  the  river 
early  in  the  mornin',  with  Turk  settin'  on  his 
pony,  his  feet  tied  together  under  the  pony's 
belly.  'Twas  a  fine  day,  and  Turk  had  got 
over  bein'  sore,  seemed  like,  so's  we  had  a 
real  nice  time.  He  wa'n't  such  a  bad  chap, 
take  him  altogether.  I  don't  know :  first 
thing  I  knowed  I  was  kind  o'  feelin'  sorry 
for  the  poor  devil.  Struck  me  he'd  got  the 


28    The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor 

makings  of  a  man  in  him,  if  he'd  only  got 
started  right  instead  of  wrong.  Takin'  his 
word  for  it,  the  things  he'd  done  hadn't  been 
all  bad,  not  by  a  long  sight.  But,  then, 
what's  the  use  ?  I  reckon  you  could  say  that 
about  the  Old  Nick  himself. 

"  Well,  we  jolted  along,  slow,  because  of 
Turk  not  bein'  able  to  do  much  with  his 
pony,  and  me  havin'  to  lead  him.  We  had 
a  snack  along  about  noon ;  and  then  we'd  got 
down  within  twenty  mile  or  so  from  the 
reservation,  when  Turk  he  says,  '  Who's 
them  over  yonder?'  '  Where?'  I  says; 
and  Turk  he  jerked  his  head  towards  a  hill, 
a  half-mile  off  to  the  left.  '  Them,'  he  says. 
'  I'm  a  liar  if  them  ain't  Pawnees.  What  do 
you  reckon  they're  doin'  off  the  reserva- 
tion ? '  I  took  a  look  at  'em,  where  they 
was  settin'  on  their  ponies,  and  I  knowed  he 
was  right.  There  was  two  of  'em,  with  their 
heads  showin'  over  the  edge  of  the  hill.  '  Do 
you  reckon  they  got  wind  that  you  was  after 
me  ?  '  Turk  says,  kind  o'  restless.  '  Shouldn't 


The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor    29 

wonder/  I  says.  '  I  guess  we'd  better  set 
still  here  for  a  spell,  till  we  see/  So  we 
waited;  and  'twa'n't  but  a  minute  after 
we'd  stopped  our  ponies,  till  the  two  of  'em 
started  down  towards  us,  and  then  there  was 
two  more  showed  theirselves  on  the  hill,  fol- 
lerin'  the  others  up.  They  come  down  in  a 
hurry  till  they'd  got  up  to  three  or  four  hun- 
derd  yards  of  us,  and  then  I  signed  to  'em  to 
halt.  They  drew  in  out  of  a  dead  run,  but 
they  kep'  on  comin'  ahead  till  I  got  my  rifle 
up  to  my  shoulder,  and  that  brought  'em  up. 
They  signed  to  me  they  wanted  to  talk. 
'  Well,  talk! '  I  hollered  to  'em,  in  Pawnee; 
and  one  of  'em  he  started  to  edge  down  clos- 
ter,  till  I  motioned  he  could  speak  his  piece 
where  he  was.  Of  course  they  seen  the  way 
Turk  was,  tied  up  and  helpless,  and  the  first 
thing  the  feller  said  was  that  they  wanted 
the  man  that  had  stole  their  cattle.  '  You 
can't  have  him,'  I  yells;  '  I've  got  him.'  But 
the  feller  he  'lowed  they  was  goin'  to  take 
him  away  from  me.  Made  me  hot,  and  I 


30    The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor 

put  my  hand  up  to  my  mouth  and  done 
this  " — a  wonderfully  graphic  and  impudent 
gesture  with  forked  fingers  and  protruded 
tongue.  "  That's  the  Sioux  way  of  sayin' 
1  You're  a  liar/  Twa'n't  what  I  ought  to 
've  done,  only  I  was  r'iled  considerable.  It 
r'iled  them  some  too;  and  they  was  four  to 
us  two,  and  Turk  tied  hands  and  feet  to  his 
pony;  so  the  one  in  front,  he  gives  a  screech, 
and  then  they  struck  for  us,  tight  as  they 
could  jump. 

"  I  was  down  off  my  pony  in  a  holy  min- 
ute, and  had  my  knife  out.  '  It's  honour 
bright,  Turky,'  I  says.  'Yep;  you  bet,'  he 
says;  and  I  slashed  the  rope  off  of  him  and 
give  him  his  pistols,  and  then  we  got  behind 
our  ponies  and  begun  shootin'.  I  reckon 
they'd  misdoubted  we'd  fight.  They  wa'n't 
more'n  a  hunderd  and  fifty  yards  off,  and  all 
in  a  bunch,  so  'twas  dead  easy.  I  got  one  of 
'em,  first  shot,  and  he  rolled  heels  over  head, 
kickin'  up  a  heap  o'  dust  where  he  hit  the 
ground;  and  then  they  took  their  cue  and 


The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor    3 1 

begun  to  spread  out  farther  apart,  droppin' 
down  on  their  ponies'  sides,  away  from  us. 
Turk,  his  pistols  was  goin',  spiteful,  this 
one  and  then  that  one,  regular  as  a  clock 
tickin',  and  I  reckon  'twas  him  that  got  the 
next  one.  I  ain't  sure,  because  the  smoke 
from  my  rifle  was  in  my  face,  and  right  then 
a  bullet  cut  clean  plum  through  my  pony's 
backbone,  back  of  the  saddle,  and  went  in 
my  left  shoulder,  here,  and  the  pony  went 
down,  and  me  with  him.  If  there'd  been 
more  of  them  Pawnees  'twould  Ve  been 
some  awkward  likely,  because  I  was  jolted 
up  considerable ;  but  I  had  sense  enough  left, 
layin'  there,  to  whang  away  again,  and  I 
seen  my  feller  tumble;  and  then  things  got 
all  blurred,  and  I  got  a  funny,  sweet  feelin' 
in  the  pit  of  my  stomach  like  I  used  to  have 
when  I  was  a  kid  and  whirled  around  till  I 
got  dizzy;  and  then  the  little  sense  I  had 
quit  me,  all  of  a  sudden. 

"  I  come  to,  by  and  by,  and  seen  Turk 
stoopin'  over  me.  He'd  cut  my  coat  and  shirt 


32    The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor 

off  my  shoulder,  and  was  pluggin'  up  the 
hole  to  stop  the  blood.  When  he  seen  I  was 
lookin'  at  him,  he  grinned,  and  he  says,  '  Lay 
still !  I'll  get  her  fixed  in  a  minute,'  and  so  I 
lay  still,  kind  o'  wonderin'  what  the  matter 
was ;  but  the  blamed  thing  hurt  like  all  get- 
out,  and  pretty  soon  it  made  me  remember. 
'  How  many  did  we  get,  Turky  ?'  I  says ;  and 
he  holds  up  his  hand,  all  bloody,  with  four 
fingers  stretched  out,  and  grinned  like  he  was 
plum  tickled  to  death.  'The  last  one  was  run- 
nin'  his  pony  like  sin,  jumpin'  sideways/  he 
says,  '  so  I  couldn't  cover  him  good  with  my 
pistol;  but  I  grabbed  your  rifle,  and  I  got 
him,'  he  says.  That  made  me  feel  pretty 
good,  and  I  lay  where  I  was  till  Turk  had 
got  the  bleedin'  stopped  a  good  bit;  and  then 
he  got  his  arms  around  me  and  helped  me  to 
set  up.  My  pony  wa'n't  dead  yet,  but  his 
hind  quarters  was  par'lysed,  back  of  where 
the  bullet  had  hit  him,  and  the  first  thing  I 
done  was  to  tell  Turk  to  put  him  out  of  his 
misery.  And  there  we  was,  with  only  one 


The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor    33 

pony  between  us,  miles  and  miles  back  of 
nowhere. 

"  Well,  Turk  he  got  me  up  on  my  feet 
pretty  soon,  and  helped  me  to  climb  straddle 
of  his  pony,  pilin'  my  things  on  in  front  o' 
the  saddle,  and  then  he  started  to  lead  afoot. 
Didn't  take  more  'n  a  couple  rods  to  show  me 
'twa'n't  no  good.  My  shoulder  hurt  so  it 
fair  made  me  blind,  and  I  says,  *  Hold  on, 
Turky;  I  can't  stand  this  jigglin';'  and  I 
keeled  out  of  the  saddle,  and  he  ketched  me 
and  put  me  down  on  the  ground. 

"'Well,  what  be  we  goin'  to  do?'  he 
says,  after  a  while,  anxious-like.  '  We  can't 
stay  here,'  he  says,  *  because  mebbe  there's 
more  of  'em  snoopin'  'round  in  the  hills/ 
'  There  ain't  nothin'  to  do,'  I  says,  '  except 
for  you  to  go  and  get  help.  You'd  best  go 
back  to  the  sod-house  we  passed,  eight  or  ten 
mile,  and  see  if  they  ain't  got  a  waggon,  or 
somethin',  and  come  after  me.  Only  I'm 
mighty  bad  off  for  a  drink  o'  water/  I  says. 
'  Don't  you  reckon  you  could  mebbe  get  me 


34    The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor 

some,  somewheres,  before  you  light  out  ?  If 
I  ain't  dead  wrong,  there's  a  little  branch  a 
mile  or  so  ahead,'  I  says;  and  Turk,  he  took 
my  canteen  and  started  to  get  on  his  pony, 
and  then  he  stops  and  lays  my  pistols  down 
beside  me,  and  he  stood  and  looked  at  me  for 
a  minute.  '  Am  I  goin'  to  take  a  gun  ?  '  he 
says ;  and  I  says,  *  Why,  sure !  You  may 
need  'em.'  Turk,  he  grinned,  and  he  put  on 
his  belt,  and  I  give  him  some  ca'tridges,  and 
then  he  struck  out.  He  was  gone  an  hour, 
but  he  had  the  canteen  full  o'  water  when  he 
come  back.  Muddy  water  'twas,  and  thick, 
with  a  lot  of  different  kinds  of  things  in  it, 
and  it  stunk;  but  I'm  dummed  if  it  didn't 
taste  better  than  any  water  I'd  drunk  since  I 
drunk  out  of  the  big  spring  back  home.  I 
drunk  it  all,  wigglers  and  everything;  and 
then  Turk,  he  helped  me  to  hitch  off  to  one 
side  of  the  trail,  where  I  could  get  shelter  in 
some  brush,  and  he  fixed  me  as  easy  as  he 
could,  and  then  he  went  off  and  left  me. 
"  Sun  went  down  after  while,  and  it  begun 


The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor    35 

to  get  dark.  My  shoulder  was  swellin'  pow- 
erful bad,  'count  o'  some  o'  the  bones  bein' 
mashed  up  pretty  much.  It  hurt  me  so  it 
made  me  a  little  flighty  in  my  head,  times; 
and  then,  besides,  the  worst  of  it  was  that  I 
wanted  to  smoke,  and  I  didn't  have  no 
matches.  I  was  feelin'  pretty  mean,  layin' 
there  and  listenin'  to  the  coyotes  yelpin',  off 
on  the  prairie,  closter  and  closter;  only  I 
was  thankful  they  was  goin'  to  eat  Pawnee- 
meat,  instead  o'  mine.  I  got  awful  lonesome 
in  the  dark  there;  but  while  I  was  waitin' 
and  waitin'  and  waitin',  do  you  know  it 
never  come  to  me  once  to  suspicion  that 
Turk  wouldn't  be  back?  It  never  did. 
And  I'm  mighty  glad  it  didn't. 

"  'Twas  away  along  somewhere  in  the 
night  when  I  heerd  a  waggon  comin'. 
Axle-grease  must  've  been  scarce  out  there 
then.  I  heerd  the  wheels  goin'  squeak, 
squeak,  squeak,  long  before  I  heerd  anything 
else,  till  I  got  to  thinkin'  'twas  some  new 
kind  of  a  Goliah  of  a  cricket,  or  mebbe  'twas 


36    The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor 

inside  my  head;  and  then  I  heerd  the  gear 
rattlin',  and  by  and  by  their  voices,  one 
and  then  the  other,  talkin'.  I'd  never 
knowed  how  far  you  could  hear  things 
acrost  the  prairies,  night-time,  till  then. 
Seemed  like  'twas  a  whole  year  till  they 
come  up,  and  Turk  hollered  to  me.  He'd 
found  his  man,  all  right,  and  a  waggon ;  but 
the  rickety  old  contraption  had  broke  down, 
a  time  or  two,  and  a  tire  had  come  off,  and 
they'd  had  to  build  a  fire  and  fix  it.  They'd 
got  a  pile  o'  straw  in  the  bottom  o'  the  bed, 
with  blankets  over  it,  and  they  lifted  me  in, 
makin'  it  as  easy  as  they  could. 

"  They'd  made  up  their  minds  how  it 
wouldn't  do  to  go  on  ahead  towards  the 
reservation,  nor  yet  back  to  the  feller's 
place.  'Twa'n't  likely  but  there'd  be 
more  of  them  Pawnees  come  out  our  way, 
after  them  ponies  had  got  back  to  the  res- 
ervation, with  nobody  on  'em.  So  they'd 
made  it  up  that  they'd  strike  off  from  the 
trail  and  go  acrost  the  prairie,  south,  to  a 


The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor    37 

little  settlement,  twenty  mile  or  so,  where 
there  was  some  kind  of  a  man-and-beast 
doctor  that  they  reckoned  could  help  me 
out.  'Twas  Jenks'  notion — Jenks  was  the 
chap  with  the  waggon,  and  he  was  all  right. 
There  he  was,  just  as  good  as  leavin'  his 
place  to  be  plundered  and  burnt,  if  the 
Pawnees  was  to  start  on  a  big  tear;  but  he 
wouldn't  listen  to  no  talk  about  that,  so  long 
as  there  was  somebody  that  needed  him.  So 
we  turned  off  on  the  prairie,  with  Turk  ridin' 
his  pony  ahead,  to  pick  our  trail,  and  Jenks 
drivin',  with  me  back  on  that  pile  of  straw, 
gettin'  the  daylights  jolted  out  of  me  every 
time  the  wheels  hit  a  bump.  Land,  land! 
I  wouldn't  take  that  ride  now,  stout  and 
hearty  as  I  be,  not  for  no  money;  and  then 
'twas  a  hunderd  times  worse,  'count  of  my 
shoulder.  I  just  lay  back  and  gritted  my 
teeth  till  they  was  wore  down  smooth. 

"Jenks  was  a  pretty  good  hand  to  talk. 
Must  've  been  lonesome  for  him,  livin'  out 
there  like  he'd  done.  Every  time  I'd  come 


38    The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor 

to  myself,  out  o'  one  o'  them  fits  of  holdin' 
my  breath  and  wishin'  I  was  dead,  I'd  hear 
him  a-goin'  on,  like  the  squeak  of  his  wag- 
gon-wheels— talk,  talk,  talk,  and  not  ap- 
pearin'  to  care  whether  I  said  nothin'  or  not. 
I  wa'n't  payin'  any  attention  till  by  and  by 
he  says,  '  That  Turk  Wesley's  a  mighty 
nervy  chap,  ain't  he  ?  Thinks  a  sight  of  you, 
don't  he  ?  '  *  Oh,  I  don't  know  as  he  does/ 
I  says.  There  wa'n't  no  reason  why  he 
should,  particular,  and  I  told  the  feller  how 
'twas.  'But  if  he  didn't,'  he  says,  'he 
wouldn't  be  doin'  what  he's  doin'  now,  run- 
nin'  his  neck  into  a  rope,  much  as  his  life's 
worth.'  '  What's  that?  '  I  says.  '  What  do 
you  mean?'  'Why,'  he  says,  '  goin'  down 
where  we're  goin'.  He's  knowed  down 
there  mighty  well,  and  folks  has  been  waitin' 
for  him  for  quite  a  spell.'  '  That  so  ? '  I  says ; 
and  that  set  me  to  thinkin'.  'Twouldn't 
do;  and  pretty  soon  I  tells  Jenks  to  call 
Turk  back,  and  when  he  come  alongside  the 
waggon,  I  says,  '  Turk,  I  ain't  goin'  to  allow 


The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor    39 

this.  You're  my  prisoner,  and  you  know 
I'm  responsible  for  you,  and  bound  to  take 
you  to  Omaha  and  turn  you  over,  regular; 
and  you  know  I  ain't  in  no  shape  to  protect 
you/  But  Turk,  he  only  laughed.  '  What 
you  been  stealin'  down  here?'  I  says;  and 
he  says,  l  Horses.'  That  was  bad,  and  I  told 
him  so ;  but  he  just  kep'  a-laughin',  and  he 
said  he  reckoned  he  knowed  what  he  was 
doin'.  I  'lowed  he  didn't  have  no  call  to 
make  a  fool  of  himself,  just  because  he  hap- 
pened to  know  how ;  and  I  says,  '  Turk, 
look  here!  you  just  keep  away  from  this 
outfit  of  our'n.  The  way  it's  turned  out,'  I 
says,  '  the  best  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  clear 
out,  and  after  a  while,  when  I'm  over  this, 
I'll  come  back  and  'rest  you  again/  '  Not 
by  a  damned  sight  you  won't,'  Turk  says. 
He  was  right  up  on  his  ear.  '  There's  no 
livin'  man  '11  ever  ketch  me  no  more,  not 
with  a  hay-fork  nor  nothin'  else.  You  shut 
up/  he  says.  '  I  know  what  I'm  doin'.  It 
'd  be  a  likely  story  for  you  to  tell  back  in 


40    The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor 

Omaha,  wouldn't  it?  that  you'd  caught  me 
and  then  turned  me  loose  because  you  was 
scared  somethin'  might  happen  to  me !  You 
just  keep  your  mouth  shut.  You're  in  this 
fix  on  account  of  me,'  he  says, '  and  I'm  goin' 
to  stay  by  you.  You  acted  white  with  me,' 
he  says,  '  and  I  ain't  the  one  to  get  you  into 
trouble,  me  runnin'  off  now.'  He  wouldn't 
say  no  more,  but  just  rode  ahead  again,  and 
we  kep'  on  towards  the  settlement. 

"  'Twas  the  grey  of  the  mornin'  when  we 
come  in  sight  of  it;  and  then  Turk  he 
dropped  back  again  beside  the  waggon,  and 
he  says,  '  I  ain't  goin'  in.  I'm  goin'  to 
quit  you  here  and  hide  out  somewheres, 
handy,  till  you  get  ready  to  start  back.  I'll 
be  watchin'  out,  and  then  I'll  j'in  you/ 
he  says ;  and  with  that  he  puts  off  up  a  little 
creek-bottom  that  we  come  to. 

"  Jenks,  he  took  me  in,  and  they  put  me 
to  bed  and  fetched  the  chap  they  called  the 
doctor.  Lord!  There  was  two  weeks  I 
was  out  of  my  head;  and  'twas  a  month 


The  Honour  of  a  Transgressor   4 1 

before  I  could  set  up.  Then  Jenks,  he  told 
me.  'Twould  've  been  better  if  Turk  had  kep' 
away,  like  I  wanted  him  to.  Some  way  or 
other  they'd  got  wind  of  him,  and  they'd 
got  a  committee  together  and  started  to  hunt 
for  him.  They'd  run  up  on  him  one  night 
where  he  was  hidin'  and  nabbed  him  while 
he  was  asleep,  and  his  pull  hadn't  done  him 
a  mite  of  good.  I  was  powerful  sorry. 
He'd  played  it  mighty  square  with  me. 

"  But,  Billy,  it's  like  I  tell  you.  When  a 
man's  a  born  fool  there  ain't  no  help  for  it; 
he's  got  to  take  the  consequences.  That 
was  the  trouble  with  Turk:  he  was  a  born 
fool.  In  my  time  I've  seen  a  whole  lot  of 
fools  just  exactly  like  Turk;  and  Turk  he 
certainly  was  one  of  'em." 


Ill 


A  MICROSCOPIC  boy  mounted  upon 
a  cosmic  horse  came  slowly  down  the 
road  leading  to  the  town  watering-trough. 
He  was  riding  bareback;  his  stubby  legs 
were  stretched  perilously  far  apart  over 
the  wide  ridge  of  knotty  spine,  but  his  bare 
toes  were  clutched  hard  against  the  sweat- 
slippery  flanks,  and  his  eyes  shone  with  a 
confident  courage. 

The  watering-trough  is  at  the  curb-line  of 
the  street,  in  front  of  the  post-office.  Uncle 
Mac  was  standing  in  the  shadow  of  the 
building,  waiting  for  the  morning's  mail  to 
be  brought  up  from  the  railway  station ;  but 
as  the  odd  pair  drew  up,  and  the  horse  put 
down  its  greedy  muzzle  to  drink,  the  old 
man  stepped  to  the  edge  of  the  walk,  and 
put  out  his  big  hand,  touching  the  tiny  earth- 
stained  foot  caressingly. 
42 


Big-Governor-Afraid          4  3 

"  Hello,  Tommy,"  he  said  softly.  "  Say, 
I  ain't  seen  you  this  two  or  three  days. 
Where  you  been?" 

Tommy  answered  with  the  air  of  a  com- 
rade. "  Been  workin'.  Foxtail  was  all 
growed  up  in  the  'tater  patch,  and  Dad  made 
us  kids  pull  it  out.  Gee,  Uncle  Mac,  you 
oughter  seen  the  fish-worms!  Say,  why  is 
they  always  such  millions  an*  millions  o' 
fish-worms  just  when  a  kid  can't  go  fishin'  ?  " 

The  bearded  face  wrinkled  into  a  sym- 
pathetic smile,  but  the  old  man  did  not  choose 
to  commit  himself  upon  that  unanswerable 
riddle.  "  Say,  Billy,"  he  said  to  me  gravely, 
"  this  is  Tommy  the  Indian  Killer.  Tommy 
the  Indian  Killer,  that's  what  I  call  him. 
He's  learnin'  to  be  a  man  and  ride  horseback, 
so  when  he's  growed  up,  him  and  me  can  go 
out  and  fight  the  red-skins.  Ain't  that  so, 
Tommy?" 

Tommy's  little  back  straightened,  and  his 
chin  went  up  many  degrees.  "  You  bet !  " 
he  cried.  "  We're  goin'  to  do  'em  up,  ain't 


44          Big-Governor-Afraid 

we,  Uncle  Mac  ?  We're  goin  to  be  pardners, 
ain't  we?  An'  all  the  Indians  we  kill,  we're 
goin'  to  take  their  scalps,  an'  their  ponies, 
an'  their  guns  an'  spears,  an'  sell  'em.  Say, 
Uncle  Mac,  I  ast  Dad  last  night,  an'  he  said 
if  I'm  a  good  boy  till  I  get  growed  up,  why, 
he'll  gimme  ten  cents  apiece  for  every  scalp 
I  get.  Won't  that  be  pretty  good?  How 
many  do  you  reckon  I  oughter  get  in  a  day, 
Uncle  Mac?  Ahunderd?" 

Uncle  Mac's  sympathy  fought  a  sharp 
battle  with  his  colder  sense  of  probability. 
"  I  reckon,  Tommy,"  he  laughed,  "  if  the 
weather  was  good,  and  things  was  just  right, 
some  days  we  might  mebbe  get  as  many  as 
a  hunderd;  but  not  every  day,  hardly.  I 
wouldn't  fret  none  about  that,  though,  yet. 
You  just  keep  on  practisin'  to  be  strong  and 
brave,  and  not  scared  of  nothin',  so  when  the 
time  comes  you  can  stand  right  up  to  'em. 
That's  the  best  way/' 

"Yes,  that's  what  I'm  a-doin',  Uncle  Mac. 
I  don't  want  to  be  no  coward.  I  don't 


Big-Governor-Afraid  45 

want  to  be  no  Big-Governor-Afraid-of-the 
Cotton- wood- Stump,  do  I  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  should  hope  not." 

"  Big-Governor — what  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Big  -  Governor-Afraid  -  of  -  the  -  Cotton- 
wood-Stump,"  Tommy  repeated.  "  That's 
Indian,  you  know.  Ain't  Uncle  Mac  ever 
told  you  about  him  ?  Shucks !  Uncle  Mac, 
tell  him!" 

The  little  treble  carried  a  note  of  com- 
mand, and  the  gentle  old  fellow  obeyed. 

"  Land,  Billy,  ain't  you  never  heerd  about 
Big-Governor?  I  thought  everybody  in 
Nebrasky  knowed  about  him ;  he  was  such  a 
wonder. 

"  That  was  away  back — Lord,  I  'most 
hate  to  say  how  long  ago  it  was.  Them 
days  Nebrasky  was  just  a  young  Terri- 
tory— hadn't  been  organised  but  a  couple 
year,  and  was  just  toddlin'  'round  in  short 
pants,  you  might  say,  gettin'  used  to  its  own 
feet.  The  Federal  Gover'ment  seemed  to 
think  that  because  we  was  so  young  we 


46  Big-Governor-Afraid 

needed  a  guardeen,  and  they  never  reckoned 
there  was  any  man  out  here  good  enough  for 
the  place.  Had  to  be  Eastern  men,  'most 
generally.  Eastern  fellers  was  slicker  in 
politics  than  us.  Big-Governor  he  come 
from  back  East,  somewheres.  I  ain't  goin' 
to  tell  you  where,  because  I  don't  rightly 
remember,  and  I  wouldn't  want  to  hurt  their 
feelin's,  anyway,  tellin'  it.  He  was  certainly 
a  wonder !  He  wa'n't  never  actually  Gover- 
nor ;  but  he  thought  he  had  it  all  fixed  so  he 
was  goin'  to  be,  and  along  in  the  summer 
there  was  some  o'  the  boys  got  wind  he  was 
comin'  out  here  to  kind  o'  nose  around  a  lit- 
tle, before  he  got  his  app'intment.  He'd 
wrote  to  some  of  'em  that  he  knowed,  up  to 
Omaha,  askin'  'em  if  they  wouldn't  meet 
him  when  he  come,  and  give  him  a  sort  of  a 
send-off;  and  we  done  it. 

"  He  come  up  from  St.  Louie,  on  a  steam- 
boat, some  time  along  in  the  middle  of  sum- 
mer, and  a  lot  of  us  fellers  was  hangin' 
'round,  waitin'  for  him.  We  knowed  right 


Big-Governor-Afraid  47 

off  what  kind  of  a  duck  he  was,  soon  as  he 
begun  to  quack  about  his  'idears'  for  runnin' 
things.  He  hadn't  more  'n  got  off  the  boat, 
togged  out  in  his  long,  black  coat,  and 
started  up  the  road  with  us,  till  he  begun  to 
let  off  his  fool  talk,  that  didn't  have  any 
more  to  do  with  Nebrasky  than  it  did  with 
the  Jerushy  Islands.  What  we'd  been 
hopin'  for  was  a  wise  man  to  come  out  here 
and  help;  and  we  reckoned  we'd  know  him 
by  the  sign  of  his  keepin'  his  mouth  shut  till 
he'd  found  out  a  few  things.  But  when  this 
feller  begun  to  blat  while  he  hadn't  got  both 
feet  off  the  gang-plank,  and  wouldn't  let 
none  of  us  hardly  say  a  word,  it  made  me 
laugh.  Makes  me  laugh  yet.  But  we  didn't 
care.  Didn't  make  no  difference  to  us  how 
big  an  idiot  he  was,  so  long  as  we  knowed 
enough  to  keep  on  doin'  our  work,  and  had 
patience  to  wait  till  after  while,  same  as  we'd 
been  doin'  before. 

"Indians   had   been   makin'   a   heap   o' 
trouble  that  spring  and  summer.      They 


4  8  Big-Governor  -Afraid 

wa'n't  pesterin'  the  whites  so  much  as  they 
was  all  balled  up  with  each  other.  Seemed 
like  every  little  last  tribe  of  'em  was  on  the 
war-path,  most  o'  the  time,  against  some 
other  tribe,  till  'twas  most  as  bad  as  sev'ral 
families  of  kin-folk  tryin'  to  live  in  one 
house  together.  The  only  times  they'd 
bothered  the  whites  was  when  they'd  get 
hungry  near  some  settler's  little  patch,  and 
turn  in  by  night  and  steal  everything  he  had 
they  could  pack  off.  Most  of  the  settlers 
wa'n't  any  too  well  fixed,  anyway,  and  it 
r'iled  'em  up  considerable  to  have  a  passel 
of  them  dauby  thieves  slip  up  in  the  dark  and 
run  off  with  the  only  horse  a  feller  had  to 
do  his  ploughin'  with,  or  mebbe  the  only  cow 
he  had  to  give  milk  for  his  kids.  There 
didn't  seem  to  be  no  way  to  stop  it,  neither, 
except  as  every  man  kind  o'  looked  out  for 
himself,  the  best  he  could.  There  wa'n't 
no  soldiers  in  the  country,  them  days,  only 
just  little  dabs  of  'em,  here  and  there,  a 
long  ways  apart.  What  could  they  do? 


Big-Governor-Afraid          49 

"  Well,  this  here  Big-Governor,  he'd  kind 
o'  got  an  *  idear '  up  his  nose  that  there  was 
some  kind  of  an  Indian  problem  for  him  to 
settle  out  here.  He  begun  to  orate  and  tell 
us  about  it  right  off,  when  we  was  comin' 
up  the  road  with  him.  *  Kindness/  he  says, 
*  firm  kindness, — that's  my  theory  o'  dealin' 
with  the  red  men/  he  says;  and  he  kep'  on 
with  it  till  you'd  've  thought  he  was  some 
kind  of  a  William  Pennsylvania.  But  we 
listened,  taggin'  along  with  him;  and  we 
couldn't  get  a  chance  to  say  nothin'  but  just 
'  yes  '  and  '  no/  just  like  we  was  wax- works 
doll-babies.  By  the  time  we'd  got  up  to  the 
hotel,  I  kind  o'  suspicioned  there'd  be  some 
fun  before  he  went  back  home  to  his  folks. 

"  There  wa'n't  anything  mean  about  him, 
though ;  I'll  say  that  for  him.  He  was  a  real 
liberal  kind  of  a  chap.  He  knowed  some- 
thin'  about  drinks,  and  there  wa'n't  anything 
too  good  for  the  boys  that  night.  We 
stayed  with  him,  too.  He  wa'n't  much  of  a 
tank  himself,  though,  because  we  was  settin' 


50  Big-Governor-Afraid 

'round  a  big  table  in  the  barroom,  and  it 
hadn't  got  to  be  more  'n  about  ten  o'clock  till 
he  begun  to  show  the  signs.  The  sweat 
come  out  all  over  his  little  fat  pink  face,  and 
his  eyes  begun  to  water — and  talk!  Say,  I 
heerd  a  woman-Populist,  once,  makin'  cam- 
paign speeches,  down  in  Kansas;  but  she 
was  the  only  thing  I  ever  did  hear  that  could 
come  within  miles  of  Big-Governor  that 
night.  But  pretty  soon  the  nigger  porter 
come  and  took  him  off  to  bed. 

"  Well,  we  set  and  looked  at  each  other 
for  a  spell,  after  he'd  gone;  and  then  pretty 
soon  somebody  begun  to  laugh.  We  all 
laughed  some,  kind  o'  foolish  and  ashamed, 
you  know ;  and  after  awhile  there  was  a  little 
feller  from  up  north  a  piece,  he  rubbed  the 
tears  out  of  his  eyes  on  the  back  of  his  hand, 
and  he  says,  '  What  in  the  name  o'  God  are 
we  goin'  to  do  with  him,  boys  ?  '  There  was 
another  feller  from  out  on  the  Loup  said 
we'd  oughter  start  a  zo'logical  garden  with 
him;  and  then  there  was  a  great  big  old 


Big-Governor-Afraid  5 1 

rooster  that  used  to  ride  around  the  prairies, 
them  days,  kind  o'  doctorin'  the  women  and 
children,  and  he  had  a  voice  on  him  like  a 
cow  bawlin',  and  he  ups  and  yells,  '  Kind- 
ness— firm  kindness.  That's  my  theory  o' 
dealin'  with  the  little  man/  Some  said  this, 
and  some  that.  'Twas  awful  funny,  but  it 
didn't  seem  to  come  to  nothin'. 

"  But  next  mornin',  before  breakfast,  old 
Doc  and  me  and  the  Loup  man,  we  run  up 
against  each  other,  on  the  sidewalk  in  front 
o'  the  hotel,  and  we  fixed  it  up  then.  We 
didn't  let  nobody  know ;  but  along  some  time 
in  the  mornin',  after  Big-Governor  had  been 
showed  around  town  some,  and  had  got  back 
to  his  room,  we  sent  word  up  by  the  nigger 
porter  that  we  wanted  to  see  him,  and  pretty 
soon  we  was  upstairs. 

"  When  we  went  in,  he  was  settin'  there, 
bareheaded.  That  was  one  of  his  fool  ways, 
takin'  off  his  hat  every  time  he  got  indoors. 
So  Doc,  he  pulled  off  his  dusty  old  hat,  and 
me  and  the  other  feller  did  too;  and  we  stood 


5  2          Big-Governor-Afraid 

around  till  Big-Governor  says,  '  Don't  stand, 
gentlemen/  he  says.  '  'Tain't  necessary  to 
stand  up  for  me.  I'm  just  a  plain  man,  that 
wants  to  be  treated  like  one  o'  you,  right 
from  the  start.  Seddown,  please,  gentle- 
men,' he  says.  But  we  wouldn't  seddown. 
Doc,  he  drawed  himself  up — he  was  six  foot 
and  better — and  he  says,  '  Your  Excellency,' 
he  says,  '  we  was  very  favourably  impressed 
with  your  remarks  yesterday  about  your 
notion  of  dealin'  kindly  with  the  Indians. 
We  reckon  mebbe  that's  been  most  o'  the 
trouble;  they've  been  shoved  around,  and 
abused,  and  kept  down,  and  worried  pretty 
nigh  plum  to  death,  and  ain't  had  no  show, 
nohow.  Strikes  us  that  ain't  right,'  he  says, 
'  and  we  reckoned  we'd  come  in  and  tell  you 
how  glad  we  be  that  you're  goin'  to  make  a 
new  start  and  do  different.'  Big-Governor, 
he  grinned  as  wide  as  he  could  between  his 
side-whiskers,  and  he  stood  up  and  tucked 
his  fingers  in  his  arm-holes,  and  bowed,  till 
it  seemed  'most  too  bad  to  fool  with  him. 


Big-Governor-Afraid          5  3 

But  Doc,  he  wa'n't  squeamish.  '  There's 
just  one  thing,'  he  says,  '  that  strikes  us  as  a 
good  chance  to  show  the  Indians  what  your 
feelin's  are  towards  'em.  It's  been  on  our 
minds,  us  fellers,  for  a  good  spell;  but  we 
ain't  never  seen  just  how  we  could  fix  it,  not 
havin'  no  means  of  our  own,  and  no 
particular  influence,  like  you've  got.  But 
the  way  we  figured  it  out,'  he  says,  '  was 
that  if  a  thing's  right,  and  fair  and  square, 
and  you  can  see  it's  so,  why,  'tain't  goin'  to 
take  no  particular  influence  to  get  you  to  do 
the  fair  thing,'  he  says.  And  Big-Governor, 
he  bowed  some  more,  and  he  says,  '  Cer- 
tainly not.'  And  then  Doc,  he  says,  *  This 
thing  I'm  talkin'  about,  it's  about  the  Paw- 
nees. Mebbe  you  know,  Your  Excellency, 
that  the  Pawnees  is  one  o'  the  very  best 
Indian  families  we  got,  like  some  families 
back  East  that's  old  and  respectable. 
Trouble  is,  the  Pawnees  is  poor ;  but  they're 
devilish  proud,  so's  they  keep  their  mouths 
shut  about  the  way  they're  fixed,  and  won't 


54  Big-Governor-Afraid 

let  on  to  nobody.  But  that  won't  do/  he 
says,  'when  men  like  us  comes  to  see  how 
they're  sufferin'.  Now  here  'tis,  with  win- 
ter gettin'  toler'ble  clost,  and  there's  them 
poor  fellers  out  on  the  prairie,  not  noways 
half  provided  for,  come  cold  weather.  I 
reckon  they  can  make  shift  to  feed  their- 
selves,  like  they  been  doin';  and  they've  got 
blankets  and  tents,  so's  they  won't  actually 
freeze  to  death.  But  what  they  do  need  bad 
is  hats.  It's  a  burnin'  shame,  the  way 
they've  been  let  go  bareheaded,  all  kinds  o' 
weather.  It's  gospel  truth,  Your  Excel- 
lency, that  there  ain't  hardly  a  weather-tight 
hat  for  man,  woman,  nor  child  on  the  whole 
reservation;  so  they  got  to  go  'round  with 
their  blankets  drawed  up  over  their  heads, 
to  keep  from  ketchin'  their  death  o'  cold. 
Tain't  right,  Your  Excellency,'  Doc  says, 
'it  just  ain't  right,  in  a  Christian  country 
like  this ;  and  that's  why  we  come  to  you,'  he 
says. 

"Big  Governor,  he'd  listened,  serious  as 


Big-Governor-Afraid  5  5 

a  horse,  kind  o'  clickin'  his  tongue;  and 
whenever  Doc  'd  give  him  a  chance,  he'd 
say,  '  You  don't  tell  me !  My,  my ! 
Shockin' ! '  And  then  when  Doc  was 
through,  Big-Governor  he  says,  '  I'll  call  it 
to  the  attention  of  the  gover'ment  at  once, 
gentlemen — at  once.'  But  Doc,  he  looked 
worried,  and  anxious,  and  he  says,  l  Beg 
pardon,  Your  Excellency;  but  seems  to  us 
like  there  ought  to  be  somethin'  done  right 
off.  Gover'ment's  too  slow.  Time  they 
get  around  to  it,  it  '11  be  hot  weather  again, 
so's  the  hats  won't  be  needed  so  much.  It's 
presumin'  a  good  deal,  I  reckon,'  he  says, 
'  but  we  didn't  know  but  you  might  have 
some  friends  o'  your'n  back  East  that  would 
feel  like  takin'  some  interest  in  'em  and 
fixin'  'em  out,  some  kind  o'  shape,  come 
winter.' 

"  Big-Governor,  he  stood  and  studied  a 
minute,  and  then  he  says,  *  I  reckon  mebbe 
that's  so,  gentlemen,'  and  he  says,  *  Please 
seddown  a  minute,  gentlemen,  till  I  write  a 


5  6  Big-Governor-Afraid 

letter/  So  we  seddown,  holdin'  our  hats, 
and  lookin'  'round  at  the  walls,  and  every- 
where but  at  each  other.  We  didn't  dast 
do  that.  Big-Governor,  he  drawed  his 
writin'-paper  up  in  front  of  him  and  begun 
to  write.  He  wrote  pages  and  pages, 
stoppin'  every  once  in  a  while  to  ask  some 
fool  question  about  how  many  Pawnees 
there  was,  and  what  kind  o'  hats  we 
reckoned  they  needed,  and  whether  mebbe 
they  wa'n't  too  proud  to  wear  second-hand 
white  folks'  hats.  But  Doc,  he  says,  '  No ; 
I  give  you  my  word,  Your  Excellency,  they'll 
take  it  kind,  like  it's  meant,  and  be  real  glad 
to  get  'em;  don't  matter  if  they  be  wore 
some.'  So  Big-Governor  he  kep'  on  writin' 
till  it  looked  like  a  love-letter,  and  then 
pretty  soon  he  signed  his  name  to  it,  and 
then  he  sorted  it  out  and  started  in  to  read 
it  to  us.  Billy,  he'd  actually  wrote  the 
whole  dummed  story  to  the  head  medicine- 
man of  a  Methodist  church  back  where  he 
come  from,  just  like  Doc  told  it,  only  more 


Big-Governor-Afraid          5  7 

so,  puttin'  in  lots  o'  little  fancy  touches  we 
wouldn't  've  thought  of,  and  makin'  it  sound 
so  sorrowful  I  swear  I'd  've  cried  if  I  hadn't 
been  bustin'  with  tryin'  not  to  laugh.  And 
then  he  folded  it  up,  and  he  says,  '  There, 
gentlemen,  I'll  send  that  right  back,  first 
mail,'  he  says ;  and  then  me  and  Doc  and  the 
Loup  man,  we  shook  hands  with  him,  and 
Doc  says  how  thankful  he  was,  and  then  we 
slid  out. 

"  We  never  said  a  word  to  nobody. 
There's  plenty  of  folks  can  be  trusted  with 
'most  everything  else,  but  you  never  can  say 
who  it's  safe  to  trust  a  joke  with.  We  went 
back  home,  till  by  and  by,  six  weeks  or  so 
afterwards,  I  got  a  letter  from  Big-Gover- 
nor, tellin'  me  to  come  to  Omaha ;  and  when 
I  got  there,  the  first  man  I  seen  was  Doc, 
with  one  o'  the  same  kind  o'  letters.  So  we 
went  up  together  to  see  Big-Governor. 
Soon  as  we'd  shook  hands,  he  says,  '  You 
remember,  gentlemen,  of  my  intercedin'  on 
behalf  of  the  needy  Pawnees? '  and  then  he 


5  8  Big-Governor-Afraid 

pulled  a  letter  out  of  his  pocket  and  showed 
it  to  us,  from  the  preacher  he'd  wrote  to, 
callin'  him  '  Dear  Brother/  and  tellin'  him 
how  his  appeal  for  them  poor,  sufferin' 
Indian  critters  had  been  read  out  in  meetin', 
and  then  been  passed  around  to  other 
churches  in  the  same  town,  and  they'd  done 
the  best  they  could,  and  he  was  proud  to  say 
he  was  sendin'  along  with  his  letter  two 
boxes  of  assorted  hats,  which  he  hoped  the 
Lord  would  bless,  and  mebbe  put  some 
thoughts  into  the  heads  that  wore  'em.  Big- 
Governor,  he  took  us  down  the  road  a  piece, 
where  there  was  an  empty  shack,  and  there 
was  the  boxes.  Billy,  I  ain't  never  seen 
such  big  boxes ;  no,  sir,  I  never  ain't. 

"  Big-Governor,  he  strutted  around, 
flappin'  his  wings,  and  gettin'  a  heap  o' 
satisfaction  out  o'  the  way  me  and  Doc  was 
pleased.  We  was  sure  pleased,  too,  and  no 
mistake.  Then  pretty  soon  he  says,  '  Well, 
gentlemen,  now  that  part's  'tended  to,  seems 
to  me  like  you  ought  to  have  part  o'  the 


Big-Governor-Afraid  5  9 

credit,  seein'  as  'twas  your  idea;  so  I'm 
goin'  to  turn  them  boxes  over  to  you/  he 
says,  '  if  you  can  spare  the  time,  and  I'll  see 
there's  a  waggon  provided  for  you,  at  my 
expense,  to  take  them  hats  out  and  kind  o' 
look  after  distributin'  'em.'  Dummed  if  he 
didn't  do  it,  too !  Of  course,  we  was  agree- 
able; we  just  turned  in  and  escorted  them 
hats  out  to  the  reservation  the  best  style  we 
knowed.  Soon  as  we'd  told  the  agent,  why, 
he  was  agreeable,  too;  and  the  next  day  or 
two  them  greasy  Pawnees  come  in  by 
bunches  and  herds,  and  we  pried  the  lids  off 
the  boxes  and  turned  'em  loose. 

"You'd  've  died,  Billy!  'Twas  the 
funniest  thing  that  ever  happened  in  Ne- 
brasky.  There  was  women's  hats  and 
men's,  half  and  half,  and  the  women's  hats 
was  all  trigged  out  in  pink  roses  and 
feathers  and  beads,  and  the  men's  was  like 
they  wore  back  East  them  days — shiny 
plugs,  and  them  kind ;  and  when  me  and  Doc 
give  the  word,  them  buck  Indians  just 


6  o          Big-Governor-Afraid 

actually  made  the  squaws  stand  back  and 
wait  while  they  helped  theirselves  to  the 
feathers  and  flowers  and  things,  and  then 
the  squaws  come  in  at  the  last  for  the  plugs. 
Years  and  years,  anybody  that  went  out 
around  the  Pawnees  would  see  them  big 
bucks  stalkin'  'round,  with  their  dirty 
blankets  drawed  up  around  'em,  and  what 
was  left  of  them  fool  hats  stuck  sideways 
on  their  frowsy  heads,  till  they  was  just 
plum  tore  to  tatters.  Now  that's  no 
lie." 

"Uncle  Mac!"  Tommy  shrilled,  wrig- 
gling with  emotion.  "  Uncle  Mac,  you've 
told  the  wrong  story.  You  was  goin'  to  tell 
about  the  cotton- wood  stump." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  honey.  But  that  hat  busi- 
ness just  showed!  That  about  the  cotton- 
wood  stump  was  what  got  him  his  name, 
and  'twas  of  a  piece  with  the  other  one. 

1  'Twas  two  or  three  weeks,  mebbe,  after 
me  and  Doc  had  gone  out  o'  the  millinery 
business,  that  there  was  a  big  stealin'  by  a 


Big-Governor-Afraid  6 1 

Sioux  war-party  out  on  the  Platte  some- 
wheres,  a  hundred  mile  or  so.  Made  a  big 
talk,  because  they'd  mistreated  some  o'  the 
settlers.  I  was  with  Big-Governor  when 
the  story  come  down  to  the  river;  I'd  been 
with  him  a  heap,  'count  of  him  bein'  such  a 
comical  cuss.  Seemed  like  he'd  found 
things  to  worry  him  a  lot,  since  he  come  to 
Nebrasky — mostly  because  they  wouldn't 
do  like  he  told  'em  about  his  idiot  '  Indian 
problem/  The  tribes  had  all  been  pawin' 
up  the  dirt  that  summer,  more-less,  and  it 
aggravated  him.  When  he  heerd  this  last 
story,  he  got  right  up  on  his  ear.  The  boys 
was  talkin'  about  it  down  in  the  street,  and 
Big-Governor  listened  a  while,  and  then  he 
tucked  his  hands  under  his  coat-tails  and 
begun  to  prance  up  and  down,  swearin' 
some  o'  them  no-'count  little  pop-gun  cuss- 
words  they  learn  back  East ;  and  then  pretty 
soon  he  stops  and  looks  around  at  some  of 
us  fellers  that  was  watchin'  him,  and  he 
says,  '  It's  shameful ! '  he  says,  *  and  I  ain't 


62  Big-Governor-Afraid 

goin'  to  have  no  more  of  it.  I'll  just  take 
hold  myself/  he  says,  '  and  show  you 
farmers  how  to  do.  If  you'd  been  men 
from  the  start,  and  acted  like  you  had  hearts 
in  you,  'twouldn't  Ve  happened/  We  just 
stood  there  and  grinned,  and  not  sayin' 
nothin'.  'Twa'n't  noways  possible  to  get 
mad  at  him.  '  Now  lookee  here,'  he  says, 
'  I'm  goin'  to  put  a  stop  to  it  myself.  How 
many  of  you  is  there  that's  willin'  to  go  out 
to  where  this  last  story  comes  from  and 
clear  the  trouble  up,  providin'  I'll  lead  you? 
Now  then ! ' 

"  Well,  there  was  a  considerable  bunch  of 
us  standin'  around  him  by  then,  and  seemed 
like  it  struck  us  all  about  the  same  way,  be- 
cause we  all  says,  why,  sure,  we'd  go.  Of 
course  we'd  go !  Right  on  the  face  of  it  the 
thing  looked  so  promisin',  I  reckon  we'd 
have  agreed  to  go  with  him  to  China  in  goat- 
waggons,  if  he'd  said  so. 

"  '  There,  see  that? '  he  says,  kind  o'  per- 
kin'  up  his  head  sideways  at  us.  'Just  as 


Big-Governor-Afraid          6  3 

soon  as  a  man  of  idears  and  decision  takes 
hold/  he  says,  '  it  brings  things  right  to  a 
show-down/  And  he  says,  l  My  idear,  gen- 
tlemen, is  just  to  get  up  a  small  party,  twenty 
or  thirty,  and  have  'em  armed  right,  and 
every  man  ready  to  stand  by  me  and  do  his 
duty.  If  you'll  do  that,'  he  says,  '  we'll  wind 
this  thing  up  before  the  week's  out.'  And 
then  he  begun  givin'  his  orders  for  outfittin' 
us.  Sounds  dummed  unlikely,  don't  it  ?  but 
it's  the  plum  truth  that  before  night  he'd 
got  more  'n  twenty  of  us  sinners  enlisted  to 
go  along  with  him  on  the  foolishest  trip  that 
was  ever  made  on  the  prairies.  That  ain't 
all,  neither.  Soon  as  the  story  got  around, 
seemed  like  every  able-bodied  man  in  town 
was  just  wild  to  go;  he  could  've  had  two 
hunderd,  and  they  was  willin'  to  pay  their 
own  way,  if  he'd  only  take  'em.  But,  '  No,' 
he  says,  '  'twon't  take  many,  so  long  as  they 
just  keep  ca'm  and  firm,'  he  says.  '  With 
what  I've  got,  I'll  guarantee  there  won't  be 
no  more  Indian  uprisin's  in  Nebrasky,  not 


64          Big-Governor-Afraid 

while  I'm  here/  He  was  fair  tickled  to 
death. 

"  By  noon  next  day  he  got  us  all  ready. 
There  was  some  solemn-minded  critters 
around  town  that  actually  went  to  him  and 
tried  to  spoil  it,  tellin'  him  'twouldn't  do  no 
good,  and  would  only  make  talk.  That  was 
true  enough;  nobody  couldn't  have  denied 
it.  But  he  wouldn't  listen  to  nobody;  he 
never  was  much  of  a  hand  to  listen,  nohow. 
No,  sir;  he  was  just  naturally  goin'  to  set 
the  mark  for  all  the  Indian  campaigns  that 
come  after  him.  I  reckon  he  done  it,  too, 
with  what  help  we  give  him. 

"  He  had  pretty  correct  notions  about 
providin'  for  a  campaign,  though;  I'll  say 
that  for  him.  Besides  horses  and  blankets 
and  guns,  there  was  a  giant  of  a  big  freight- 
waggon,  drawed  with  four  mules,  that  was 
chuck-full  o'  truck.  Big-Governor,  he'd 
looked  after  that  himself,  and  he'd  been  used 
to  good,  tender  feedin'.  I'm  blessed  if  I 
know  where  he'd  picked  it  all  up,  because 


Big-Governor-Afraid          6  5 

Omaha  wa'n't  no  particular  headquarters 
for  them  kind  o'  things,  them  days;  but 
he'd  got  it  somewheres — canned  stuff,  and 
cigars,  and  drinks — land!  He  wa'n't  out 
here  long,  but  the  boys  learned  they  could 
always  trust  him  for  pickin'  out  the  drinks. 

"  Well,  seemed  like  everybody  in  Omaha 
that  could  crawl  was  there  to  see  us  off. 
Big-Governor,  he  was  up  at  the  head  him- 
self, hollerin'  out  his  orders  to  us ;  and  he'd 
picked  up  a  slim  little  sword  somewheres, 
and  got  it  tied  'round  his  middle,  and  he'd 
got  a  big,  wide-brimmed  hat  on,  like  the 
rest  of  us  wore,  only  bran'-new,  with  a  gilt 
string.  Oh,  he  was  a  wonder !  Pretty  soon 
he'd  got  us  strung  out  like  he  wanted  us, 
and  then  he  squeals,  '  'Tention !  Forward, 
march ! ' 

"  Well,  we  kep'  pretty  well  in  line  till  we'd 
got  out  o'  town;  but  when  we  got  out  on 
the  road  there  wa'n't  nothin'  could  've  kep' 
us  straight.  We  just  picknicked.  Couldn't 
make  no  kind  o'  time,  on  account  of  the  com- 


66  Big-Governor-Afraid 

missariat  waggon;  we  didn't  want  to  get 
too  far  away  from  that.  We  just  acted  like 
a  passel  of  colts,  till  it  come  along  about 
five  o'clock,  and  then  we  hunted  a  place  to 
camp.  We  didn't  know  where  we  was  goin', 
nor  we  didn't  care,  so  long  as  we  made 
campin'  places  regular.  We'd  only  gone  ten 
or  twelve  mile  since  dinner,  but  we  was  pow- 
erful hungry.  Big-Governor,  he'd  hired  a 
cook  to  come  with  us  from  the  hotel,  and  I 
want  to  tell  you  that  boy  knowed  his  busi- 
ness. 

"  When  we  couldn't  eat  no  more,  'twas 
gettin'  along  towards  dark,  and  then  Big- 
Governor  stood  up  and  made  us  a  speech, 
and  he  says,  '  Gentlemen/  he  says,  '  I  don't 
begrudge  you  havin'  a  good  time;  but  you 
must  remember  this  here's  a  military  cam- 
paign, and  it  must  be  run  right.  I'm  goin' 
to  divide  you  up  in  three  watches,'  he  says, 
'  with  fifteen  doin'  sentry  duty  every  night, 
and  the  rest  '11  take  care  of  the  horses  and 
camp.  Sentry  duty,'  he  says,  '  will  begin  at 


Big-Governor-Afraid          6  7 

dark  and  last  till  sun-up,  and  I  hope  there 
won't  be  no  objection/  he  says. 

"  Nobody  wouldn't  have  objected  to 
nothin'.  If  he'd  told  us  to  make  the  cam- 
paign in  Mother  Hubbards  and  false  faces, 
we'd  have  done  it.  You  can't  think,  Billy, 
how  we  felt.  We  felt  just  right.  I  was  one 
o'  the  first  shift  to  go  on  post,  and  we  just 
tucked  our  rifles  up  on  our  shoulders  and 
went  out  a  hunderd  yards  or  so  from  camp 
and  hunted  around  till  we'd  found  a  nice, 
easy  place,  and  then  we  seddown  to  kind  o' 
study  out  what  we  was  goin'  to  do. 

"  Pretty  soon  us  fellers  out  there  could 
hear  that  things  was  warmin'  up  some,  back 
in  camp.  I  reckon  the  liquor  had  got  started 
around  considerable,  and  they  was  yellin' 
and  hollerin'  and  laughin'  and  havin'  a  bully 
time.  Got  kind  o'  lonesome,  out  there  in  the 
dark,  and  dry,  too,  and  I  reckon  that  helped 
us  to  make  up  our  minds.  Along  about  ten 
o'clock  we'd  got  it  fixed,  and  then  the  rest 
of  the  boys  scattered  out  around  the  camp, 


6  8  Big-Governor-Afraid 

a  good  ways  apart,  and  I  sneaked  back  to- 
wards the  fire,  tryin'  the  best  I  knowed  how 
to  look  plum  scared  to  death.  I  went  up  to 
Big-Governor  and  touched  him  on  the 
shoulder  and  motioned  him  off  to  one  side, 
and  I  says,  '  Your  Excellency/  I  says,  '  I 
reckon  'twas  a  good  move,  havin'  sentries 
out.  Unless  I'm  fooled/  I  says,  '  there's  an 
Indian  out  there  now,  spyin'  'round.  I  wish 
you'd  come  out  along  with  me/  I  says,  '  and 
take  a  look  at  him,  because  I  can't  be  dead 
sure.'  'You  don't  tell  me!'  he  says.  'I 
was  'feared  of  it.  You  can't  never  tell 
about  them  sneakin'  critters.  Where's  he 
at  ? '  he  says ;  and  then  when  I'd  p'inted 
out  towards  the  dark,  he  gets  me  down 
under  the  shadder  of  the  waggon,  and  then 
he  makes  me  get  down  on  my  hands  and 
knees  and  lead  him  out  that  way,  crawlin', 
a  plum  hunderd  yards,  to  where  we'd  been 
settin',  and  all  the  way  I  could  fair  feel  the 
ground  tremble  under  him. 

"  There  was  a   cotton-wood  stump  out 


Big-Governor-Afraid  69 

there,  standin'  about  six  foot  high,  and  with 
some  kind  o'  vines  growin'  up  over  it,  that 
was  shakin'  in  the  wind.  Didn't  look  so 
dummed  much  unlike  an  Indian,  after  all, 
with  his  blanket  drawed  up  around  him. 
'  There  he  is ! '  I  says.  '  I  couldn't  see  him 
that  well  before,  but  I'm  dead  sure  of  it 
now.  It  certainly  is  an  Indian,  Your  Ex- 
cellency,' I  says.  He  was  down  flat  on  the 
ground,  grippin'  the  grass  with  both  his 
hands  and  chokin'  for  breath.  *  Oh,  dear ! ' 
he  says.  '  Oh,  dear !  God  save  us !  What 
are  we  goin'  to  do  ? '  I  never  said  nothin', 
but  I  crep'  as  close  as  I  could  beside  him, 
till  I  could  smell  the  whiskey  on  him,  and 
I  got  my  rifle  up  alongside  his  ear  and 
whanged  away;  and  right  quick  the  feller 
beyond  us  on  the  left,  he  shoots  off  his'n, 
and  he  yells,  '  Look  out  in  camp !  Indians ! ' 
and  then  I  yells,  '  Run,  Your  Excellency ; 
run  for  your  life ! '  and  the  feller  over  on  the 
right,  he  lets  go  with  his  rifle. 

"  Billy,  I've  heerd  tell  there  ain't  nobody 


jo  Big-Governor-Afraid 

that  can  run  away  from  his  shadder,  nor  yet 
step  on  it;  but  I'm  tellin'  you  the  truth: 
Big-Governor  done  both,  right  then  and 
there,  and  had  lot's  o'  time  to  spare  besides. 
Run!  It  does  beat  all  how  deceivin'  some 
folks  is  in  their  looks.  I'm  willin'  to  own 
up  that  I'd  misjudged  Big-Governor  shame- 
ful. I  hadn't  more  'n  got  up  off  my  belly 
and  turned  'round  to  look  at  him  till  he 
was  half-way  to  camp,  jumpin'  high,  like 
an  elk,  and  yellin'  twice  to  each  jump.  No, 
sir;  there  ain't  nobody  need  say  nothin'  to 
me  about  runnin',  not  after  that. 

"  Well,  soon  as  I  could,  I  picked  myself 
up  and  loped  along  after  him  into  camp. 
The  boys  was  mixed  up  considerable,  and  no 
shame  to  'em.  They  didn't  know  what  to 
think.  But  soon  as  they  seen  us  fellers 
comin'  in,  and  got  a  chance  to  look  at  us, 
par'lysed  with  laughin'  like  we  was,  they 
knowed  what  was  the  matter.  Most  of  'em 
had  done  their  share  o'  drinkin',  so's  they 
was  ready  to  do  their  part,  when  we  told 


Big-Governor-Afraid          7 1 

'em,  and  we  begun  to  hunt  around  for  Big- 
Governor.  But  we  couldn't  find  him,  no,  sir ; 
high  nor  low,  we  couldn't  find  hide  nor 
hair  of  him.  We  yelled  and  hollered,  but 
'twa'n't  no  manner  o'  use — he  was  clean 
gone.  We  reckoned  he'd  skinned  out  for 
Omaha,  so  we  just  seddown  to  make  our- 
selves to  home.  The  cook,  he'd  gone  to  bed, 
but  we  hauled  him  out  and  put  him  to  work. 
'Twa'n't  no  use  to  let  all  them  good  victuals 
get  wasted.  He'd  got  a  kettle  of  water  on 
the  fire,  and  the  rest  of  us  we  was  rum- 
magin'  in  the  waggon,  turnin'  things  over 
to  find  what  we  wanted  most,  and  raisin* 
Cain  generally,  when  pretty  soon  there 
was  a  thin  little  scared  squeal  come  from 
somewheres,  sounded  like  a  long  ways  off. 
1  Listen ! '  somebody  says,  and  when  we 
stopped  our  devilment  we  heerd  it  again. 
'  Gentlemen ! '  it  says,  '  gentlemen,  won't  you 
please  help  me  out  ? '  '  Who  in  thunder's 
that  ? '  one  feller  answers  back ;  and  the 
squeak  says,  '  I'm  your  leader.  Won't  you 


7  2          Big-Governor-Afraid 

please  help  me  out  ?  '  '  Help  you  out  ?  '  we 
says.  '  Why,  where  in  the  name  o'  God  are 
you  ? '  And  he  says,  '  Down  here,  under 
the  waggon,  and  I  can't  get  out/  Come  to 
look,  Billy,  there  he  was,  jammed  in  between 
the  body  and  the  runnin'-gear,  tight  as  a 
cork  in  a  bottle;  and  I'm  dummed  if  we 
didn't  have  to  unload  that  whole  blamed 
waggon-load  of  truck  and  lift  the  body  off 
before  we  could  get  him  out.  That  was 
what  give  him  his  name." 

Tommy  sat  erect,  grinning  widely,  gather- 
ing the  halter-strap  into  his  small  grasp. 

"That's  a  bully  story,  Uncle  Mac,"  he 
said.  "  I  could  set  and  listen  to  that  a  thou- 
san'  times;  only  I  got  to  go  now." 

When  he  was  gone,  Uncle  Mac  laughed. 
"That  ain't  all,  Bill.  I  ain't  never  told 
Tommy  the  rest.  He'll  learn  swearin'  soon 
enough,  without  no  help.  But  'twas  sure 
funny. 

"After  we'd  got  back  to  Omaha,  Big-Gov- 
ernor he  took  the  first  boat  for  Saint  Louie. 


Big-Governor-Afraid          7  3 

Lord,  Lord,  but  he  was  hot !  Wouldn't  say 
a  word  to  none  of  us,  after  that  night,  but 
just  packed  his  things  and  toted  'em  down 
to  the  dock  by  himself,  keepin'  his  mouth 
tight  shut  and  lookin'  straight  ahead.  But 
we  didn't  have  no  hard  feelin's  towards  him, 
and  there  was  a  good  bunch  of  us  trailed 
down  after  him,  kind  o'  expectin'  he'd 
weaken  and  show  a  Christian  spirit.  But  he 
didn't ;  he  just  clum  up  the  gang-plank  and 
walked  to  the  other  rail,  lookin'  acrost  to- 
wards loway,  till  the  bell  rung. 

"  There  was  a  big  Swede  chap  stood  next 
to  me,  leanin'  against  a  box,  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets  and  his  mouth  hangin'  open, 
the  way  them  Swedes  does.  When  he  seen 
the  way  Big-Governor  was  actin',  he  grinned 
and  spit  in  the  water,  and  he  says,  '  Say, 
fallers,'  he  says,  '  he  don't  seem  to  like  Ne- 
brasky  like  hell!'" 


IV 
B  Cupful  of  Sugar 

IN  the  glory  of  an  October  evening  Uncle 
Mac  and  I  sat  together  upon  the  wide 
porch  of  his  homestead.  In  the  roadway 
below  the  yard  children  were  playing,  their 
shrill  little  voices  swelling  sweet  and  clear. 
Warned  by  the  hovering  shadows,  the  chick- 
ens were  picking  their  reluctant  way  toward 
the  barnyard,  and  a  gaily  bedight  Leghorn 
cock  paused  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  to  flap 
his  iridescent  wings  and  to  sound  the  note 
of  his  lusty  content  with  life.  Then  Uncle 
Mac's  roly-poly  wife  came  from  the  house 
and  seated  herself  in  her  rocker  by  his  side. 

"Got  your  work  all  done,  deary?"  he 
asked  gently. 

"All  done  for  another  day,"  she  answered. 
He  took  possession  of  her  pudgy  hand,  hold- 
ing it  locked  fast  in  his  own,  lifting  it  to 

74 


A  Cupful  of  Sugar  75 

his  lips  and  cuddling  it  fondly  in  his  big 
beard.  The  light  in  his  eye  was  a  sover- 
eign specific  for  all  doubts  of  life's  utility. 

We  sat  in  silence  until  the  brave  lacings 
of  gold  and  scarlet  that  lay  across  the  sky 
had  faded.  It  was  as  if  the  tired  day  had 
taken  off  its  hot  uniform.  The  mothers  of 
the  neighbourhood  were  summoning  their 
children  from  their  play,  and  the  chorus  of 
baby  voices  was  thinning,  dropping  from  its 
allegro  movement  into  a  sleepy  largo.  Uncle 
Mac  had  drawn  his  wife's  head  down  upon 
his  shoulder,  where  it  rested  content.  The 
calm  of  the  growing  dusk  seemed  too  large 
to  be  filled  with  any  save  large  thoughts. 
When  the  old  man  spoke,  by  and  by,  it  was 
with  a  word  that  matched  the  hour. 

"  I  was  just  thinkin'  of  the  difference 
that's  come  over  Nebrasky  since  those  first 
days.  The  first  time  I  stood  up  here  on  this 
hill,  there  wa'n't  anything  between  here  and 
the  river  but  woods  and  some  Omaha  and 
Pawnee  camp-fires,  scattered  through.  Now 


76  A  Cupful  of  Sugar 

look  at  it!  I  swear  it  does  look  as  if  the 
good  Lord  had  kind  o'  stood  by  us,  don't 
it?  And  just  because  there  was  a  few  men 
that  was  brave  enough  to  come  out  here  and 
do  things." 

After  a  quiet  minute  he  sighed.  "And 
yet  it  wa'n't  all  easy/'  he  said.  "  Nobody 
'11  ever  know  but  them  that  was  through  it. 
I  was  thinkin'  about  the  time,  once,  when  I 
rode  thirty  mile  and  better,  acrost  the  prairie, 
to  borrow  a  cupful  o'  sugar.  Did  I  ever 
tell  you  about  that,  Billy?  I  don't  wonder 
if  I  ain't;  it's  one  o'  the  times  I'd  like  to 
forget  about,  if  I  could. 

"Twas  the  next  year  after  I  come  to 
Nebrasky — that  would  be  '56.  You  know 
that  little  town  down  below  Omaha  a 
ways,  name  o'  Bellevue — a  no-'count,  dry- 
rot  kind  of  a  place  now;  but  them  days  it 
was  as  good  as  the  best  of  'em,  and  a  good 
tradin'  and  outfittin'  station  for  them  that 
was  goin'  on  West.  One  winter  I  blowed 
in  all  the  money  I  had  down  there,  buyin' 


A  Cupful  of  Sugar  77 

town  lots.  If  I  had  'em  now,  I'd  sell  'em 
three  for  a  quarter.  But  there  wa'n't  no 
way  to  tell.  Bellevue  might  have  been 
Omaha,  if  the  cards  had  fell  a  mighty  little 
different. 

"  Well,  one  day,  along  in  the  first  summer, 
there  was  a  Swede  come  through,  goin' 
down  on  the  Weepin'  Water  a  ways,  to  lo- 
cate. He'd  got  a  good  waggon,  and  mules, 
and  tools,  besides  a  right  decent  wad  of 
money,  and  he  stopped  over  for  a  day,  layin' 
in  some  things  he'd  need.  I  run  up  against 
him,  after  a  while.  Sorenson  his  name  was 
— a  great,  big,  tow-headed  bull  of  a  chap, 
and  not  bad-lookin'  neither,  the  way  Swedes 
run.  He  was  a  mighty  'cute  trader,  too— 
what  the  down-Easters  call  '  near.'  Along 
in  the  evenin',  when  we  was  settin'  around 
the  store,  me  and  him  got  to  talkin',  and  I 
says  to  him,  '  Well,  Mister,  got  all  you 
want  ? '  He  set  and  looked  at  me  for  a  min- 
ute, with  his  hands  poked  down  in  his  pock- 
ets, and  then  he  bit  off  a  chew  and  tucked 


78  A  Cupful  of  Sugar 

it  in  his  cheek  before  he  says,  *  Got  all  I'm 
goin'  to  buy'  he  says,  '  but  I  ain't  got  all  I 
want.  I  can't  do  all  the  work  myself.  I've 
got  to  have  a  woman,'  he  says,  *  and  I  reckon 
I'll  lay  over  here  till  noon  to-morrow  and  see 
if  I  can't  pick  me  up  one,'  and  he  asks  me, 
'  You  don't  happen  to  know  of  a  good,  likely 
woman-critter,  do  you,  that  I  could  get, 
that's  a  good,  stout  hand  to  work? '  Them 
was  his  very  words — like  he  was  goin'  about 
pickin'  out  a  plough-horse  or  a  lead-ox.  I 
was  pretty  young  then,  and  didn't  know 
so  much  about  the  way  beasts  like  him  looks 
at  their  women-folks,  and  it  made  me  pretty 
dummed  hot.  'A  woman ! '  I  says.  '  Why, 
where  do  you  reckon  you're  goin'  to  find  a 
woman  that's  fool  enough  to  go  with  you? 
We  ain't  got  none  o'  your  kind  around  here/ 
I  says.  But  he  wa'n't  bothered  a  bit.  '  Oh, 
I  don't  know,'  he  says.  '  I'll  find  one.  I 
got  my  eye  on  one,  down  to  the  hotel,  and 
I'm  goin'  to  ask  her  in  the  mornin',  if  I  don't 
see  me  a  better  one.  I've  got  to  get  me 


A  Cupful  of  Sugar  79 

one  that's  stout  and  healthy/  But  I  wouldn't 
listen  to  him  no  more;  I  just  got  up  and 
went  off. 

"  But  next  mornin',  when  I  was  eatin' 
my  breakfast  in  the  hotel,  he  come  in  and 
set  down  acrost  from  me,  and  the  girl 
brought  him  his  grub.  A  right  nice  little 
girl  she  was — clean  and  pretty,  and  with 
them  quiet,  gentle  ways.  I'd  talked  with  her 
some,  and  got  to  like  her  first-rate.  Sally 
was  all  the  name  I  knowed  for  her;  but  she'd 
told  me  about  how  she  was  fixed,  without 
no  kin-folks  out  here,  and  her  havin'  to  take 
care  of  herself.  Well,  she  fetched  the  Swede 
what  he  wanted,  and  set  it  down ;  and  then 
he  says  to  her,  grinnin'  up  at  her,  he  says, 
'  Say,  I'm  goin'  to  get  married  before  I 
pull  out  of  here,  and  I  want  to  marry  you/ 
No  more  decent  feelin'  in  it  than  if  he'd  been 
a  tom-cat.  I  was  so  hot  I  wanted  to  reach 
over  and  get  my  hands  on  him;  but  I 
couldn't  do  nothin'  but  set  there  and  listen 
at  him.  Sally,  she  got  red  as  fire,  and  she 


8o  A  Cupful  of  Sugar 

stood  ketchin'  her  breath  and  star  in',  and 
then  she  turned  'round  and  scooted  for  the 
kitchen,  and  she  didn't  come  back  no  more 
while  I  was  there.  It  made  me  feel  good. 
I  ain't  never  made  no  brags  about  know  in' 
women-folks;  but  I  reckoned  that  settled  it 
with  Mr.  Swede,  and  I  told  him  so.  He 
didn't  seem  to  mind,  though,  not  a  bit;  he 
just  kep'  eat  in'. 

"  I  got  done  before  him  and  went  out  to 
'tend  to  some  business  I  had.  'Tw'sn't 
more  'n  an  hour  after  that  till  I  met  him 
goin'  around  the  streets,  with  Sally  follerin' 
along  with  him,  huntin'  for  somebody  to 
marry  'em.  There's  just  no  tellin'!  He 
was  big,  and  stout,  and  likely-lookin',  and  I 
reckoned  mebbe  he'd  showed  her  his  money. 
That  mostly  ketches  'em.  Anyway,  he'd 
got  her,  and  she  was  lookin'  as  chipper  and 
sassy  as  a  she-catbird.  'Twa'n't  none  o' 
my  business;  but  what  could  I  do?  She 
didn't  have  no  folks  to  speak  up  for  her.  I 
stopped  her,  and  I  says,  '  Sally,  you  ain't 


A  Cupful  of  Sugar  81 

goin'  to  do  it ! '  But  she  laughed  at  me  and 
went  on  with  Sorenson.  I  knowed  she'd 
be  sorry,  the  longest  day  she  lived;  but  she 
wouldn't  have  listened  to  nobody  then, 
likely,  after  she'd  got  her  head  set.  And  let 
me  tell  you  what  he  done :  he  went  around 
to  every  man  in  town  that  had  license  to 
marry,  with  her  taggin'  on  behind,  till  he'd 
found  out  where  he  could  get  it  done  the 
cheapest.  But  by  noon  he'd  got  her,  and 
got  his  waggon  loaded  up,  and  they  pulled 
out. 

"  Well,  I  forgot  about  her,  after  while, 
'tendin'  to  my  own  business.  I  hadn't 
counted  on  seein'  her  again  till  it  come  about, 
winter  of  '59  or  '60. 

"  I  had  a  gover'ment  contract  that  year, 
freightin'  out  to  Fort  Laramie,  and  the  time 
I'm  tellin'  you  about,  we  was  gettin'  back 
from  a  trip,  and  one  of  the  waggons  had 
broke  down  in  the  runnin'-gear  a  good  piece 
out  on  the  prairie,  so  it  couldn't  keep  up  with 
the  train,  and  me  and  another  chap,  name  oj 


82  A  Cupful  of  Sugar 

Jim  Wister,  we  stayed  behind  with  it, 
travellin'  slow.  We  got  along  all  right,  only 
that  when  we'd  unloaded  the  grub  we'd  need 
from  the  waggons  our  supplies  was  in,  we'd 
forgot  sugar. 

"  Seems  like  a  mighty  little  thing,  us  bein' 
growed-up  men,  and  havin'  tolerable  good 
sense;  but  we'd  always  been  used  to  havin' 
sugar  in  our  coffee.  You  know  how  a  feller 
is  on  Sunday,  after  dinner,  when  he's  forgot 
to  get  anything  to  smoke.  Seems  as  if  the 
whole  thing's  wrong,  somehow,  don't  it? 
That's  just  the  way  'twas  with  me  and  Jim. 
We'd  got  everything  we  really  needed;  but 
we'd  been  used  to  sugar,  that's  all,  and  we 
couldn't  seem  to  be  happy  without  it,  nohow. 
I  mind  once  when  I  got  lost  in  the  Wind 
River  mountains,  and  run  out  of  ca'tridges, 
and  went  without  eatin'  for  four  days,  till 
I  was  'most  starved,  without  its  botherin' 
me  half  as  much  as  drinkin'  my  coffee  with- 
out sugar  in  it.  A  man's  surely  a  curious 
critter. 


A  Cupful  of  Sugar  83 

"  Next  mornin'  I  waked  up  long  before 
day,  and  I  give  you  my  word  the  very  first 
thing  I  thought  of,  laying'  there  in  the  dark, 
was  a  pint  tincupful  of  strong,  black  coffee, 
with  three  big  spoonsful  o'  sugar  in  it.  I 
couldn't  get  back  to  sleep  again;  I  just 
thrashed  around  for  a  while,  and  then  I  set 
up  and  reached  over  with  my  foot  and  kicked 
Jim  to  wake  him.  '  Jim/  I  says,  '  you  stay 
here  with  the  outfit  till  I  get  back.  I'm 
goin'  after  some  sugar.'  And  Jim,  he 
roused  up  a  bit,  and  he  says,  '  That's  good. 
Where  you  goin'  to  get  it  ? '  'I  don't 
know/  I  says,  '  but  I'm  goin'  to  keep  a-goin' 
till  I  find  it.  You  just  stay  here  and  wait/ 
I  says;  and  then  I  saddled  up  one  o'  the 
mules  and  lit  out. 

"  I  was  minded  first  to  see  if  I  couldn't 
mebbe  ketch  up  with  the  other  waggons  of 
the  train ;  but  they  was  'most  a  day  ahead  of 
us,  and  after  I'd  thought  about  it  a  bit,  I 
'lowed  I'd  just  strike  off  south  from  the  trail 
a  piece  and  mebbe  find  a  settler's  place.  The 


8  4  A  Cupful  of  Sugar 

wind  was  blowin'  cold,  and  there  was  a  little 
snifter  o'  snow  on  the  ground,  and  more  a- 
flyin';  but  I  rode  acrost  the  prairie  for  an 
hour,  till  it  began  to  get  daylight,  and  then  I 
seen  I'd  misfigured  where  I  was,  and  the 
country  was  new  to  me.  Didn't  matter.  I'd 
got  six  or  seven  mile  from  camp  by  then,  and 
I  kep'  a-goin'  for  another  half -hour,  huntin' 
for  some  kind  of  a  sign  of  folks ;  and  by  and 
by  I  went  to  the  top  of  a  little  rise  o'  ground, 
where  I  could  see  a  good  ways.  Off  south 
a  few  mile  I  seen  a  little  patch  of  broke 
ground,  with  a  house  on  it,  so  I  went  for  it. 
'Twas  a  mean-lookin'  hole,  when  I'd  got  up 
closter — half  dugout  and  half  sod,  with  a 
stable  of  sod  and  poles.  There  wa'n't  no 
smoke  comin'  out  o'  the  chimney,  and  I 
thought  first  'twas  deserted ;  but  when  I  got 
around  towards  the  front  I  seen  a  woman. 

"  She  was  dressed  terrible  poor — nothin' 
but  rags,  and  with  nothin'  on  her  head,  and 
the  wind  had  got  her  hair  loose  down 
around  her  shoulders.  She  was  workin'  at 


A  Cupful  of  Sugar  85 

something  in  the  yard,  and  when  I  got  up 
to  her  I  seen  she  had  an  axe  and  was  choppin' 
a  hole  in  the  froze  ground,  and  when  she'd 
get  a  little  bit  o'  dirt  loose  with  the  axe,  she'd 
take  a  shovel  and  scrape  it  out.  I  hollered 
to  her,  but  she  didn't  seem  to  take  much 
notice;  she  just  turned  her  head  around  to 
look,  without  straightenin'  up,  and  then  went 
back  to  what  she  was  doin'.  But  I  didn't 
care;  I  hadn't  come  down  there,  all  that 
way,  just  for  the  sake  of  bein'  sociable. 
*  Got  any  sugar  ? '  I  hollers.  She  didn't 
look  at  me  no  more;  she  just  shook  her  head 
and  kep'  on  choppin'.  '  Ain't  you  got  a 
bit  ? '  I  says.  '  Well,  which  way  is  it  to 
the  next  place  ? '  She  p'inted  off  south. 
'  How  far  is  it  ?  '  I  says ;  and  she  says  'twas 
four  mile.  I  thought  she  was  powerful 
uncivil,  but  I  picked  up  and  went  on  till  I'd 
got  to  the  place  she  meant.  A  feller  was 
livin'  there  by  himself,  and  he  was  putterin' 
'round,  gettin'  his  breakfast.  I  didn't  waste 
no  time.  *  Got  any  sugar  ? '  I  says ;  and 


86  A  Cupful  of  Sugar 

he  says,  '  I  don't  know  but  I  got  a  little, 
somewheres  around.  Seddown  and  eat 
breakfast  first,  and  then  I'll  look/  He'd 
got  some  fried  meat  and  some  pan-bread 
laid  out  on  a  wood  bench,  and  me  and  him 
set  on  the  different  ends  of  the  bench,  with 
the  grub  betwixt  us,  and  e't.  Seemed  like 
he'd  got  powerful  lonesome,  livin'  off  by 
himself  there,  so  as  he  was  mighty  glad  to 
see  me.  We  set  and  chinned  a  while,  him 
askin'  me  about  things  down  at  the  river, 
till  I  begun  to  think  o'  Jim  waitin'  back  there 
with  the  waggon,  and  then  I  asked  him  again 
about  the  sugar.  '  I'll  see/  he  says.  '  We 
used  to  have  some  sugar  here,  but  I  don' 
know.  I  never  use  no  sugar  myself,'  he 
says,  '  and  I  ain't  had  no  call  to  hunt  it  up 
since  my  wife  died,  last  spring.'  But  he 
begun  diggin'  'round  in  a  mess  of  truck  he'd 
got  stowed  away  in  a  box  under  his  bunk, 
turnin'  the  things  over  kind  of  aimless ;  and 
pretty  soon  he  fished  up  a  tin  can  and  pried 
the  lid  off  it,  and  then  he  hollered,  '  Well, 


A  Cupful  of  Sugar  87 

I'll  be  dog-goned  if  here  ain't  my  specs !  I 
lost  'em  while  my  wife  was  sick,  when  I'd 
be  readin'  to  her  out  o'  the  Bible.  I  never 
knowed  what  had  become  of  'em/  he  says, 
1  and  I  ain't  been  able  to  read  a  word  since.' 
He  was  awful  tickled.  '  There's  the  hand 
of  the  Lord  in  it,'  he  says,  '  your  comin' 
down  after  that  sugar.  You  take  what 
there  is;  it's  your'n.'  'How  much  is 
there?'  I  says.  'What's  it  worth?'  But 
he  wouldn't  listen  to  me.  He'd  got  them 
specs  straddle  of  his  nose,  and  he  couldn't 
think  of  nothin'  else.  '  Take  the  can,  and 
clear  out,'  he  says.  '  I'm  goin'  to  lay  by 
to-day  and  read,  if  it's  the  last  thing  I  do/ 
So  I  stuck  the  can  down  in  my  pocket  and 
struck  back  towards  the  trail. 

"  When  I  got  to  the  dugout  where  I'd 
seen  the  woman,  she  was  there  yet,  peckin' 
away  with  her  axe.  'Twas  just  kind  o'  the 
fashion,  them  days,  to  speak  when  you  went 
by,  and  so  I  says,  '  What  you  doin'  ?  Kind 
o'  soon  for  a  posey-garden,  ain't  it  ? '  But 


A  Cupful  of  Sugar 


she  wouldn't  look  at  me  nor  answer  me,  and 
so  pretty  soon  I  says  again,  '  What  you 
doin'?'  and  then  she  stood  up,  pushin'  the 
hair  back  from  her  face.  She'd  got  to  be 
terrible  old  in  her  looks,  them  few  year;  but 
I  knowed  who  she  was,  right  off.  '  Sally ! ' 
I  says.  '  Why,  Sally,  what  in  the  name  o' 
God  are  you  doin'?  What's  the  matter?' 
I  says.  *  What  am  I  doin'  ?  '  she  screeched, 
and  she  reached  up  her  hands  like  she  was 
goin'  to  grab  me.  '  What  am  I  doin'  ?  '  she 
says :  '  I'm  diggin'  a  grave,  that's  what  I'm 
doin' — a  grave — a  grave — a  grave/  she 
says,  hollerin'  it  over  three  or  four  times,  till 
she  had  me  scared  nigh  to  death,  with  the 
chills  runnin'  up  my  back,  the  way  she  looked 
and  took  on.  f  A  grave  ?  '  I  says.  '  Why, 
what  do  you  mean,  Sally  ? '  She  begun 
laughin'  then,  and  hollerin'  like  she  was 
crazy.  I  got  down  off  my  mule  and  took  her 
by  the  arm  and  shook  her  till  she  quit  her 
carryin'  on,  and  then  I  says,  '  Where's  Sor- 
enson  ? '  *  He's  gone  down  to  the  river, 


A  Cupful  of  Sugar  89 

tradin','  she  says.  *  He's  been  gone  a  week/ 
Soon  as  I  begun  to  get  over  my  scare,  I  seen 
'twas  a  mighty  little  hole  she  was  diggin', 
short  and  narrow  both,  and  I  says,  '  Where's 
the  kid?'  and  she  jerked  her  hand  towards 
the  dugout.  'Be  you  alone?'  I  says ;  and  she 
says, '  No,  I  ain't  alone.  There's  another  one 
in  there,  nigh  dead,  too,  and  I'm  goin'  to 
make  it  deep  enough  for  the  two  of  'em  while 
I'm  about  it,'  she  says.  A  man  got  pretty 
much  used  to  seein'  them  kind  o'  things,  if  he 
was  goin'  around  much,  them  days ;  but  that 
kind  o'  ketched  me  by  the  wind.  I  just  put 
my  arm  around  her  and  made  her  go  in  the 
house  with  me. 

"  I'd  never  seen  such  a  mean  hole  for  folks 
to  live  in — starved,  and  poor,  without  no 
fire  nor  no  sign  of  nothin'  to  make  one  with. 
There  was  a  tumbledown  bed  in  one  corner. 
I  went  over  and  turned  back  the  blankets, 
and  the  two  of  'em  was  layin'  there  together, 
the  live  one  and  the  dead  one.  The  dead 
one  was  just  a  little  bit  of  a  baby,  and  it 


90  A  Cupful  of  Sugar 

looked  like  it  had  starved  to  death  and  froze 
to  death,  both.    It  made  me  wink  to  look  at 


'em. 


"  '  Sally,  ain't  you  got  nothin'  in  the  house 
to  eat  ? '  I  says ;  and  she  says,  real  short, 
'  Cornmeal.'  '  Nor  nothin'  to  make  a  fire 
with  ? '  I  says.  She  just  shook  her  head. 
'  I  got  to  rustle  my  own  wood  when  he's 
gone,'  she  says,  '  and  I  ain't  been  feelin'  able 
these  last  two  or  three  days.'  I  didn't  know 
what  to  say.  '  Sally,'  I  says,  '  he  ain't  been 
good  to  you,  has  he?'  Seemed  like  I'd 
touched  a  raw  spot  then,  for  she  stiffened 
up,  and  her  eyes  got  like  they'd  been  before, 
out  in  the  yard,  and  she  got  white,  even  her 
lips,  and  some  red  come  in  the  middle  of  her 
cheeks.  '  He's  nothin'  but  a  beast,'  she  says ; 
'  a  black  beast — that's  what  he  is.'  '  Well/ 
I  says,  '  then  why  in  thunder  don't  you  quit 
him  ?  What  makes  you  keep  on  stayin'  with 
him,  if  he's  that  kind?  Lord  knows  the 
country's  big  enough,'  I  says,  '  so  you  don't 
need  to  live  so  close  to  him  if  you  don't  want 


A  Cupful  of  Sugar  91 

to.  Why  don't  you  pull  out  ?  '  '  Because/ 
she  says,  kind  o'  lookin'  down  at  the  floor, 
like  she  was  'most  ashamed  of  herself,  '  be- 
cause I  didn't  think  I'd  ought  to.  I  didn't 
think  I  had  a  right  to,  me  bein'  his  wife.'  I 
swear  I  wanted  to  cry;  only  I  felt  like  I 
wanted  to  laugh  worse.  '  Does  he  drink, 
Sally  ?  '  I  says ;  and  she  says,  '  No,  he  don't. 
He's  too  stingy  to  spend  anything  that  way/ 
'  Well,'  I  says,  '  don't  he  spend  nothin'  for 
victuals,  neither  ? '  She  didn't  want  to  tell 
me;  but  I  made  her,  and  she  told  me  she'd 
had  to  scrabble  along  for  herself  the  best 
way  she  could,  for  the  last  week,  with  Soren- 
son  away.  She'd  fixed  a  trap  and  caught  a 
couple  of  jack-rabbits  and  fed  'em  to  the  old- 
est kid,  and  she  'd  e't  her  damned  cornmeal 
mush.  Poor  little  critter !  '  But  don't  he 
like  his  children  ?  '  I  says.  'Ain't  he  some 
kind  of  a  man,  somewhere  ?  '  I  says.  '  No,' 
she  says.  '  He  didn't  want  to  have  no  chil- 
dren, and  he  was  mad  when  they  come,  be- 
cause it  kep'  me  from  doin'  my  share  of  the 


92  A  Cupful  of  Sugar 

work,  like  he  wanted  me  to.'  That  settled 
it  with  me,  Billy.  *  Sally/  I  says,  '  you  listen 
to  me:  I'm  goin'  to  take  you  back  to  the 
river.  You  ain't  goin'  to  stay  here  no  more. 
It's  time  you  was  meetin'  up  with  white 
folks  again.  I'm  goin'  to  make  a  fire  first,'  I 
says;  and  I  went  out  and  got  the  axe  and 
took  it  in.  There  was  a  table,  made  out  i/ 
boards,  and  I  knocked  the  legs  off  it,  and 
split  'em  up  for  kindlin',  and  then  chopped 
the  rest  of  the  thing  up  bigger,  so  it 
wouldn't  burn  too  quick,  and  then  I  started  a 
fire.  You'd  oughter  seen  the  girl.  She  just 
stood  starin'  at  me,  with  her  eyes  bulgin' 
out,  and  her  thin  little  hands  pressed  to- 
gether, like  she  was  scared  to  death  for  fear 
of  what  the  feller  might  say.  I  didn't  mind; 
I  didn't  look  at  her  any  more  'n  I  had  to,  till 
I  got  the  fire  blazin  up  brisk;  and  then  I  says, 
'Now,  Sally,  you  pull  that  kid  out  o'  bed  and 
get  him  warm.'  '  Tain't  a  him,  it's  a  girl,' 
she  says.  'Don't  make  no  difference,'  I  says; 
'  you  pull  her  put  and  seddown  and  get  her 


A  Cupful  of  Sugar  93 

warmed  up  till  I  get  back.'  She  done  just 
like  I  told  her,  and  I  wrapped  'em  up  in  one 
of  the  blankets,  and  then  I  got  on  my  mule 
and  rode  back  to  the  house  where  I'd  got  the 
sugar.  The  old  chap  was  still  there,  layin' 
in  his  bunk,  readin'  his  Bible  a  mile  a  min- 
ute. When  I  come  in  on  him,  he  cocked  his 
eye  at  me  over  his  specs,  and  he  listened 
while  I  told  him  what  I  wanted;  and  then 
you'd  ought  to've  seen  the  move  he  got  onto 
him.  He  was  a  joy,  that  feller!  His  wife 
must  've  been  sick  for  a  good  spell,  because 
he'd  got  a  whole  lot  of  fancy  fixin's  tucked 
away  in  his  box.  He  dug  'em  out,  all  that 
was  fit,  and  loaded  me  down  with  'em  till 
I  couldn't  carry  no  more;  and  then  I  went 
back  to  Sally. 

"  She  was  settin'  in  her  rickety  old  chair, 
rockin',  all  good  and  warm,  and  she  was 
actually  tryin'  to  sing  a  kind  of  a  tune  to  the 
little  critter  she'd  got  hugged  up  to  her. 
'  Here,'  I  says,  '  you  can  put  her  down  now, 
and  fix  up  some  o'  this  truck  to  eat,  while 


94  A  Cupful  of  Sugar 

I'm  workinV  Soon  as  I  seen  she  was  doin' 
what  I  told  her,  I  went  out  and  finished  dig- 
gin*  the  hole  for  her,  and  then  I  went  back 
in  the  house.  I  didn't  want  to  get  her 
started  again  with  her  carryin'-on,  so  I 
talked  as  matter-of-fact  as  I  could.  'Twas  a 
blessed  good  thing  she'd  got  the  livin'  one  to 
think  about.  '  What  was  you  goin'  to  put 
the  baby  in  to  bury  it  ?  '  I  says ;  and  she  says, 
'  I  'lowed  to  wrap  it  up  in  my  petticoat. 
We'll  need  the  beddin',  and  there  ain't 
nothin'  else,'  she  says.  '  Yes,  there  is,'  I 
says;  and  I  took  the  axe  and  started  to 
knockin'  the  bedstead  to  pieces,  and  I  made 
a  kind  of  a  box  out  of  the  boards.  Sorenson 
wouldn't  like  it,  mebbe,  but  I  says  to  myself 
he  could  lay  on  the  ground,  where  he  be- 
longed, same  as  a  hog. 

"  When  I'd  got  the  box  nailed,  I  put  the 
baby  in  it  and  carried  it  out  and  buried  it. 
Sally  didn't  fuss  much;  she  was  too  wore 
out,  and  too  full  of  good  grub  she  hadn't 
been  used  to,  and  too  warm  and  comfortable. 


A  Cupful  of  Sugar  95 

You  know  how  folks  is,  when's  the  strain's 
took  off  'em.  That  was  the  way  with  Sally. 
She  just  stood  by,  quiet,  while  I  put  the  little 
thing  down  in  the  hole  and  covered  it  up. 
'Twas  a  funny  kind  of  a  funeral,  with  nobody 
sayin'  nothin' ;  but  even  if  I'd  knowed  how, 
/  wouldn't  have  said  a  word.  I  reckoned  the 
Almighty  knowed  what'to  do  with  the  baby, 
and  there  wa'n't  no  call  for  me  to  put  in  my 
lip.  '  Now,'  I  says,  '  that's  a  good  job  done; 
now  we'll  be  movin'.'  And  I  says,  'Ain't 
there  some  kind  of  a  critter  about  the  place 
you  can  ride  ?  '  '  There's  a  couple  of  his 
mules  out  in  the  stable,'  Sally  says,  '  but  I 
wouldn't  dast  to  take  one  of  'em.'  '  Wouldn't 
you? '  I  says;  '  well,  7  would.'  I  went  out 
and  got  the  mule  ready  for  her,  and  then  we 
started  off. 

"  We'd  got  half-way  to  the  trail  when  we 
seen  Sorenson  comin'  along  towards  us  on 
his  waggon.  Sally  was  covered  up  in  the 
blankets  so  he  didn't  know  her  at  first,  but 
when  he'd  got  closter  he  seemed  to  know  the 


96  A  Cupful  of  Sugar 

mule  she  was  ridin'.  I  wa'n't  goin'  to  pay 
no  attention  to  him,  but  he  stopped  his  team 
and  jumped  down  to  the  ground,  holler  in' 
to  me.  '  Who's  that  you  got  there  ? '  he 
says ;  and  I  says,  '  This  here's  a  girl  by  the 
name  of  Sally.'  Land,  you'd  ought  to  heerd 
him !  He  fair  frothed  at  the  mouth,  he  was 
so  mad.  He'd  got  his  gun  buttoned  up  in- 
side his  big  coat,  but  he  started  to  get  it; 
only  I  got  mine  first,  and  then  I  made  him 
stick  his  hands  up.  *  You  wait  there  a  min- 
ute/ I  says,  '  until  I  can  think  what  I'm 
goin'  to  do  with  you/  He  done  it,  too;  but 
I  couldn't  make  him  stop  talkin'.  *  But  you 
got  my  mool/  he  splutters ;  '  she's  got  my 
mool.  You  can  have  the  woman,'  he  says, 
'  but  I  won't  let  you  take  the  mool/  I  just 
set  there  a-studyin'.  I  didn't  want  to  kill 
him,  and  I  knowed  mighty  well  he  could 
lick  the  daylights  out  of  me  in  a  fight,  with 
him  near  a  foot  bigger  than  me.  '  Sally/  I 
says,  '  you  pass  the  kid  over  to  me,  on  my 
other  arm/  And  when  she  done  it,  then  I 


A  Cupful  of  Sugar  97 

says,  '  Now,  you  Swede  you,  you  keep  your 
hands  up.  If  you  go  to  take  'em  down,  I'll 
plug  you.'  I  reckon  I  must  've  looked  it,  be- 
cause he  done  just  like  I  told  him;  and  I 
says  to  Sally, '  Now,  you  go  and  slap  his  face 
for  him,  good.  Go  on,'  I  says;  'we  ain't 
got  no  time  to  fool.'  'Twas  more  fun  than 
a  cat-fight.  Sally,  she  rode  her  mule  up 
alongside  of  him,  where  he  was  standin',  and 
she  leaned  down  and  hit  him  a  lick  that  made 
his  eyes  water.  '  Good ! '  I  says.  '  Don't 
stop.  Hit  him  again ! '  She  pasted  him  as 
hard  as  she  could,  five  or  six  times,  and  me 
near  dyin'  with  laughin'.  His  big,  red  ears 
was  stickin'  out  from  the  sides  of  his  head 
like  swing-doors,  and  I  judged  by  the  feel  of 
my  own  that  they  was  stiff  with  cold.  '  Hit 
him  on  the  ears,'  I  says;  and  she  done  it 
He'd  kep'  his  mouth  shut  till  that,  but  that 
fetched  a  yell  out  of  him.  Did  you  ever 
notice  how  like  blazes  it  hurts  to  get  your 
ears  whacked  when  they're  froze  and  half- 
stiff?  I'd  rather  be  shot,  any  day.  But  the 


98  A  Cupful  of  Sugar 

only  way  to  treat  brutes  like  him  is  to  hurt 
'em  some  place  where  they're  tender.  You 
can't  hurt  'em  in  their  feelin's,  because  they 
ain't  got  any.  '  Once  more  on  each  ear, 
Sally/  I  says,  '  hard  as  you  can,'  and  then  I 
give  the  baby  back  to  her  and  I  set  and 
talked  to  that  feller  good  and  plenty  for  a 
spell,  makin'  motions  at  him  with  my  gun, 
and  makin'  him  keep  his  hands  up ;  and  then 
I  made  him  climb  back  into  his  waggon  and 
drive  on.  '  You  dast  to  look  back  as  much 
as  once,  till  you  get  clear  home/  I  says,  '  and 
I'll  shoot  six  loads  into  you.'  Far  as  we 
could  see  him,  he  was  lookin'  straight  ahead. 
"  When  we'd  got  back  to  the  waggon,  and 
I  told  Jim,  he  didn't  seem  so  sunny  about  it 
—not  till  after  he'd  got  sight  of  the  kid.  He 
had  two  of  his  own,  back  home.  By  and  by, 
when  I  fetched  out  my  sugar  from  my 
pocket,  Jim  he  took  and  peeked  in,  and  then 
he  clapped  the  lid  back  on  the  can  and  tucked 
it  away  in  the  grub-box;  and  come  night, 
after  we'd  got  our  supper,  and  the  woman 


A  Cupful  of  Sugar  99 

was  settin'  by  the  fire,  holdin'  the  little  girl 
up  to  her,  Jim,  he  went  to  work  and  made 
every  speck  of  that  sugar  up  into  a  mess  of 
dauby  candy  for  the  young  one.  And  there 
wa'n't  neither  one  of  us  said  another  word 
about  sweet'nin'  for  our  coffee." 

The  tale  seemed  to  have  come  to  an  end. 
"  But  what  became  of  Sally?  "  I  asked. 

The  old  man  chuckled  softly,  dwelling 
upon  it  with  relish.  "I  don't  know  what 
become  of  her,"  he  said.  "  I  lost  track  of 
her,  after  a  bit.  But  I  do  know  part.  Me 
and  Jim  we  took  her  back  to  Bellevue  with 
us  and  kind  o'  looked  after  her  a  little,  till 
pretty  soon  she  got  a  job  up  in  Omaha, 
cookin'  or  somethin'.  I'd  most  forgot  her 
again,  till  one  day  when  I  was  foolin'  'round 
Omaha  I  run  up  against  her  on  the  street,  all 
togged  out  for  a  widder — black,  you  know, 
with  a  funny  little  bunnit  on  the  backside  of 
her  head  and  a  black  veil  stringin'  down  her 
back  behind  her.  '  Why,  hello,  Sally!'  I 
says.  '  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?  Soren- 


ioo          A  Cupful  of  Sugar 

son  ain't  dead,  is  he  ?  '  I  says.  '  No,  he  ain't 
dead/  she  says,  real  quiet ;  and  then  she  stood 
there  in  front  o'  me,  kind  o'  playin'  with  the 
dust  with  the  toe  of  her  shoe,  and  lookin' 
down,  like  she  didn't  rightly  know  what  to 
say.  But  pretty  soon  she  told  me,  and  she 
said  she  hadn't  been  able  to  feel  right  good 
in  her  mind  somehow,  leavin'  Sorenson  that 
way,  without  nothin'  to  show  that  things 
was  different,  and  so  she'd  took  the  first 
money  she  got  and  fixed  up  them  duds. 
Killin',  wa'n't  it?  But,  then,  I  don't  know. 
I've  noticed  women-critters  a  heap  since 
then,  and  I  reckon  there  ain't  many  of  'em 
but  has  spells  of  wonderin'  if  they  wouldn't 
look  pretty  well  in  widder's  fixin's.  Mebbe 
that  was  what  ailed  Sally." 


V 

B  IRomance  in  1ReD  and  Tidbite 

I  HAD  been  admiring  a  fine  pair  of  elk- 
teeth  that  hung  from  Uncle  Mac's 
watch-fob,  held  by  a  buckskin  thong.  He 
took  the  teeth  in  his  broad  palm,  looking 
upon  them  reminiscently.  Then  a  vagrant 
flush  crept  into  his  cheeks. 

"  Them  teeth  makes  me  think.  I  cheated 
myself  out  of  a  wife,  once,  just  because  I 
didn't  have  the  nerve  to  live  up  to  my 
chances.  I  reckon  you'd  never  guess,  from 
lookin'  at  me,  that  I'd  ever  cut  a  swath  with 
the  women.  But  I  did,  once,  just  the  same. 

"  It  begun  back  in  the  summer  o'  '59, 
when  I  was  freightin'  up  the  Platte.  One 
day  we'd  camp,  along  in  the  middle  o'  the 
day,  so  as  to  let  the  critters  rest  up  till 
towards  evenin',  like  we  done  in  hot 
weather ;  and  after  while  I  saddled  one  of  the 

IOI 


IO2  A   Romance 

extry  mules  and  went  out  to  see  if  I  couldn't 
mebbe  get  a  buf'lo.  I  went  back  five  or  six 
miles  in  the  hills,  and  then  I  seen  a  little 
bunch  of  'em  grazin'  over  beyond  a  creek 
bottom.  I  hopped  down  out  o'  the  saddle 
and  took  the  bridle  over  my  arm  and  started 
to  creep  up  closter,  through  the  willers  and 
brush,  so  as  I  could  pick  me  out  a  fat  one; 
and  just  as  I  was  gettin'  ready  to  shoot,  that 
there  mule  brayed.  That's  what  makes  me 
hate  a  mule !  I  never  did  like  man  nor  beast 
that  can't  keep  his  lip  out  of  other  folks's 
business.  'Twas  just  as  good  as  if  he'd  hol- 
lered to  them  buf 'lo  to  look  out.  I  was  tired, 
and  hot,  and  mad,  and  I  hauled  off  and  hit 
him  a  lick  alongside  the  head  with  my  rifle ; 
and  then  he  pulled  loose  from  me  and  started 
off  on  a  lope  towards  camp. 

"  When  I  turned  'round  again  to  look  for 
the  buf'lo  they  was  all  up  in  a  close  bunch; 
and  then  an  old  bull  that  was  with  'em,  he 
give  a  beller,  and  they  lit  out.  I  was  as  mad 
as  a  woodpecker  by  then,  and  I  up  with  my 


A  Romance  103 

rifle  and  plugged  the  bull  in  the  shoulder, 
and  then  jumped  out  from  where  I  was  hid. 
The  old  bull  he  whirled  'round  when  the 
bullet  hit  him,  and  he  seen  me.  Seemed  like 
he  was  in  pretty  much  my  state  of  mind ;  he 
let  the  herd  go  on  without  him,  and  come  at 
me  on  a  charge,  bellerin'  and  poundin'  the 
ground  till  he  made  it  shake.  But  you  know 
how  a  feller  is  when  he  gets  good  and  r'iled ; 
I  wa'n't  goin'  to  be  bluffed  then  by  no  buf'lo 
bull  on  top  o'  earth.  I  stayed  right  where 
I  was  and  took  another  shot  at  him  while  he 
was  runnin';  but  I  was  so  mad  my  hand 
wa'n't  steady,  and  I  guess  I  missed  him. 
He  was  gettin'  up  a  dummed  sight  too  close 
to  suit  me  by  then;  so  I  dropped  down  on 
one  knee  and  shot  careful;  and  just  as  he 
tumbled  there  come  another  shot  from  a 
good  piece  up  the  creek,  and  an  Indian  broke 
out  o'  the  brush  on  a  buckskin  pony,  tearin' 
along  towards  me,  swingin'  his  rifle  and 
yellin'.  I  thought  at  first  'twas  a  Pawnee, 
till  I  seen  his  long  hair  blowing  out  behind; 


104  A  Romance 

and  then  I  knowed  it  was  a  Sioux.  The  Sioux 
used  to  run  loose  all  over  the  country  when 
they  was  on  a  hunt.  This  feller  was  ridin' 
like  the  Dickens,  makin'  signs  to  me  that 
the  bull  was  his'n,  and  that  I  was  to  keep 
off.  I  didn't  care — I  didn't  want  the  bull 
nohow,  me  bein'  so  far  from  camp,  and 
havin'  no  way  to  pack  the  meat  down ;  but 
I  was  that  tore  up  in  my  feelin's  by  then,  I 
reckon  I'd  have  been  ready  to  pick  a  fuss 
with  the  Old  Nick  himself.  I  started  on  a 
run  for  the  critter,  signin'  to  the  Sioux  that 
it  was  mine  and  he'd  better  keep  away  or 
there'd  be  trouble.  We've  have  had  it,  too, 
likely,  if  his  pony  hadn't  happened  to  run  his 
foot  down  a  dog-hole,  or  somethin',  and  went 
end  over  end.  The  Sioux  came  down  hard 
and  didn't  move  for  a  spell,  and  I  stood 
watchin'  till  he  roused  up;  but  he  couldn't 
stand  because  of  his  leg  bein'  broke.  I  hol- 
lered to  him,  friendly,  and  started  to  go  to 
him;  but  he  must  have  been  jolted  foolish, 
because  he  made  a  slash  at  me  with  his  knife, 


A  Romance  105 


and  I  had  to  bat  him  with  the  butt  of  my 
rifle  to  make  him  lay  still,  and  when  he  come 
round  again  he  was  ready  to  listen  to  what  I 
was  tellin'  him.  He  wa'n't  but  a  boy,  six- 
teen or  seventeen,  or  such  a  matter,  and 
light-built.  He  told  me  where  his  village 
was,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  or  so  up  the  creek, 
and  he  let  me  h'ist  him  on  my  back  and  tote 
him  towards  his  camp.  I  was  tolerable  stout, 
them  days,  and  my  wind  was  good;  and  he 
wa'n't  no  great  heft  nohow ;  so  pretty  soon 
I  got  him  down  to  where  his  folks  was. 

"  'Twas  just  a  little  huntin'  outfit,  with  a 
dozen  or  so  lodges.  The  men  was  all  gone, 
and  some  o'  the  squaws,  too ;  but  some  o'  the 
squaws  was  fussin'  'round,  cuttin'  up  meat 
and  dressin'  hides.  When  they  seen  us,  they 
quit  what  they  was  at  and  come  around,  jab- 
ber in'  and  cacklin',  till  the  boy  spoke  to  'em 
right  sharp,  and  then  an  ugly  old  squaw  she 
went  ahead  and  showed  me  where  I  was  to 
take  him.  Twas  the  best  lodge  in  the  out- 
fit, and  up  on  top  o'  the  lodge-poles,  where 


io6  A  Romance 

they  stuck  out  o'  the  smoke-vent,  there  was 
a  bunch  o'  feathers,  and  there  was  a  shield 
and  a  lance  out  in  front,  and  some  more 
truck;  so  I  knowed  it  belonged  to  a  head 
man.  We  fixed  the  boy  up  as  good  as  we 
could,  and  me  and  the  squaw  set  his  leg  for 
him ;  and  when  I  was  ready  to  go  away  he 
shook  hands  with  me,  real  friendly,  like  he'd 
got  all  over  his  tantrum. 

Well,  that  was  just  the  beginnin'.  I  was 
doin'  different  things,  till  the  war  broke  out, 
and  then  I  j'ined  the  cavalry,  and  our  regi- 
ment was  one  that  was  stationed  out  along 
the  edge  of  things,  different  places.  I  was 
a  second  lieutenaut,  and  I  had  plenty  to  do, 
me  knowin'  the  prairies  pretty  well.  'Twas 
suspicioned  that  the  Indians  would  be  makin' 
trouble  soon  as  they  knowed  the  regulars 
was  gone  from  the  posts — 'specially  the 
Sioux.  We  was  lookin'  for  the  Minnesota 
Sioux  to  come  down,  too,  any  time  and  j'ine 
luck  with  them  in  Nebrasky;  so  it  used  to 
be  that  the  freighters  and  emigrant  outfits 


A  Romance  107 


would  mostly  have  a  little  squad  of  cav- 
alry for  escort.  That  was  the  work  I  had  to 
do. 

"  'Twas  along  in  the  late  summer  of 
'62  that  me  and  a  half-company  went  up 
Cedar  Creek  Valley  with  a  waggon-train. 
Part  of  it  was  new  country  to  me,  and  so 
when  we  was  on  our  way  back  I  used  to  go 
out  'most  every  day  up  over  the  hills,  back 
from  the  trail,  gettin'  acquainted.  I  had 
good  ponies,  and  I'd  be  gone  all  day  some- 
times and  ketch  up  with  the  boys  towards 
night.  'Twa'n't  just  to  say  good  judgment; 
but  that  was  just  the  kind  of  a  fool  I  was, 
when  I  was  younger.  I  never  thought 
nothin'  about  risk,  if  there  was  anything  to 
do  or  see. 

"  One  day  near  noon,  I'd  gone  back  from 
the  rest  a  good  bit  further  than  I  mostly  did, 
follerin'  up  a  bunch  of  ant'lope  and  tryin'  to 
get  a  shot.  I  was  just  ridin'  along,  not 
thinkin',  and  just  as  I  got  up  to  the  edge  of 
a  bunch  of  scrub,  my  pony  shied,  and  a  little 


io8  A  Romance 

naked  Indian  baby  come  out  of  the  brush, 
five  or  six  years  old.  He'd  got  a  chunk  o' 
raw  meat  in  his  fist,  gnawin'  and  suckin' 
on  it,  and  he  never  took  it  out  of  his  mouth, 
but  just  stood  there,  starin'  at  me;  and  then 
I  seen  there  was  some  squaws  in  the  scrub, 
pickin'  choke-cherries.  I'd  have  backed  out, 
if  I  could;  but  I  didn't  know  where  the 
bucks  was,  nor  where  I'd  be  likely  to  run  into 
'em  if  I  tried  to  get  away,  so  I  made  up  my 
mind  the  best  thing  to  do  was  to  put  up  a 
good  front  and  see  it  through.  I  don't  know 
but  that's  as  good  a  way  as  any,  when  you 
run  up  against  trouble.  It's  helped  me  out 
of  lots  o'  tight  holes.  I  told  them  squaws  I 
was  huntin'  for  their  village,  and  for  them 
to  show  me  the  way;  and  they  picked  up 
their  traps  and  went  ahead  till  we'd  gone  a 
mile  or  so,  down  where  there  was  some  big 
timber,  and  then  we  come  to  the  lodges. 
There  was  a  big  lot  of  'em,  and  they  was 
fixed  up  like  they'd  come  to  stay  for  a  spell. 
I  told  the  squaws  I  wanted  to  talk  to  the 


A  Romance  109 


head  chief,  lettin'  on  like  I'd  come  a-purpose ; 
and  while  they  was  leadin'  me  down  through 
the  village,  pretty  soon  there  was  a  young 
buck  that  give  a  holler,  and  he  run  out  and 
grabbed  my  bridle.  '  Good-bye,  John ! ' 
thinks  I;  but  then,  when  I'd  got  a  look  at 
him,  I  knowed  I  was  all  right,  because  I  seen 
he  was  the  same  chap  I'd  toted  on  my  back 
that  time  he  broke  his  leg.  Indians  is 
treacherous,  and  ornery,  and  all  that;  but 
they  don't  forget  a  thing  that's  done  for  'em. 
He  took  me  in  tow  then,  himself,  tellin'  the 
squaws  to  go  about  their  business,  and  he 
led  me  to  the  main  lodge. 

"  The  old  head-chief  must  have  been  a 
high-roller,  because  his  lodge  was  as  good  a 
one  as  I  ever  seen — a  big  one,  made  out  o' 
good  skins  that  wa'n't  all  smudged  up  with 
smoke  and  dirt ;  and  there  was  dressed  hides 
hung  up  in  front,  all  covered  with  picture- 
writin'  that  showed  the  things  he'd  done, 
huntin'  and  fightin'.  When  I'd  got  out  o' 
my  saddle,  there  was  a  young  feller  waitin' 


1 1  o  A  Romance 

to  take  care  o'  my  pony,  and  then  me  and 
the  other  chap  ducked  down  under  the  flap 
and  went  in  the  lodge.  The  chief  was  there, 
settin'  back  from  the  door  on  a  pile  of  skins, 
all  hunched  up — a  real  old  man,  he  was ;  and 
the  young  feller  begun  talkin'  to  him,  makin' 
signs  at  me,  and  pow-wowin'  faster  than  I 
could  listen;  and  then  the  old  feller  got  up 
and  shook  hands  wkh  me,  like  he  was  glad 
I'd  come.  I  reckon  the  boy  must  have  told 
him  about  that  leg  business. 

"  'Twas  a  bully  place  inside,  all  fixed  up. 
Sioux  can  put  on  a  heap  o'  style,  when  they 
set  out  to.  Little  Bear  was  the  old  chief's 
name,  and  he'd  got  things  fixed  up  about  like 
he  wanted  'em.  There  was  two  squaws  and 
a  girl  settin'  off  to  one  side,  doin'  somethin' 
with  beads  and  skins  and  porcupine  quills; 
and  they  wa'n't  the  greasy,  frowsy  kind  that 
most  Indian  women  is,  neither.  They  had 
their  hair  slicked  up,  and  their  clothes  was 
made  out  of  clean  skins,  with  all  manner 
of  trinkets.  The  squaws  wa'n't  no  great 


A  Romance  1 1 1 

shakes  for  looks;  but  the  girl  was  different, 
now  I  tell  you !  She'd  got  them  high  cheek- 
bones; but  her  nose  wa'n't  all  squashed  out 
over  her  face,  nor  her  eyes  little  and  mean 
and  pinched-up.  Her  skin  had  a  kind  of  a 
yaller  cast  to  it,  with  pink  in  the  middle  of 
her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  was  the  kind  you 
can  see  things  in — big,  and  wide  open,  and — 
oh,  I  don't  know:  I  can't  tell  about  a 
woman's  looks.  I  figured  it  out  that  there 
must  be  some  French  blood  in  her,  a  while 
back.  'Tain't  no-ways  uncommon  to  see 
French  signs  in  tribes  that  was  mixed  up 
with  them  trappers,  early  days;  and  some  o' 
the  reddest  Indians  on  the  plains  has  got 
French  names.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  wa'n't 
a  bit  sorry,  lookin'  at  her;  it  helped  mighty 
well  to  pass  the  time  while  I  set  there  waitin'. 
I  hadn't  no  notion  yet  what  was  goin'  to 
happen.  The  young  feller,  he'd  hung  'round 
for  a  spell,  and  then  he'd  gone  out;  and  the 
old  chief  was  just  settin'  there,  not  doin' 
nothin'  but  keep  his  mouth  shut.  'Twas 


112  A  Romance 

a  curious  kind  of  a  feelin'.  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  lookin'  at  Miss  Big-Eye,  I'd  have 
got  tolerable  dummed  lonesome. 

"  Along  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  the 
old  chief  roused  up  and  begun  talkin'  to  the 
squaws,  tellin'  'em  to  get  up  a  supper,  and  I 
judged  from  what  he  said  there  was  goin' 
to  be  company.  The  squaws  they  set  to 
work,  real  brisk,  and  the  girl  helpin'. 
They'd  got  no  end  of  grub  tucked  away  here 
and  there  and  tied  up  in  bags — meat,  and 
roots,  and  berries,  and  dried  back-fat  from 
buf'lo,  and  all  such  kind  of  truck;  and  one 
o'  the  squaws  went  out  and  ketched  a  big 
brindled  dog  that  was  runnin'  'round  in 
front  o'  the  lodge,  and  killed  it.  I  seen  her 
doin'  it,  and  watched  her  gettin'  it  ready  to 
cook.  They'd  made  up  a  big  fire,  and  you'd 
have  thought  they  was  gettin'  ready  to  feed  a 
gang  of  railroad  hands.  But  the  thing  that 
took  my  eye  was  watchin'  that  girl  make 
dumplin's.  She  fetched  out  a  bag  of  choke- 
cherries,  that  had  been  pounded  till  the  seeds 


A  Romance  113 


was  all  mashed  up,  and  then  dried ;  and  she'd 
take  a  little  handful  of  'em  and  mix  'em  up 
with  a  wad  of  buf'lo  fat,  rollin'  'em  'round 
in  her  hands  till  she'd  got  'em  the  right 
shape,  and  wettin'  her  hands  with  her  tongue 
to  keep  'em  from  stickin'.  I  made  up  my 
mind  I  was  goin'  to  eat  some  of  'em,  too.  I 
was  pleased  with  that  girl,  Billy. 

"  While  the  supper  was  cookin',  the  young 
feller  had  come  back;  and  Little  Bear,  he 
told  him  to  go  and  invite  the  company,  and 
the  boy,  he  went  and  stood  out  in  front  o' 
the  lodge  and  yelled  out  the  names  of  them 
that  was  to  come — like  a  bailiff  yellin'  for  a 
jury  in  the  court-house.  And  pretty  soon, 
here  they  come,  stringin'  along,  togged  out 
to  kill — old  men,  mostly,  with  just  two  or 
three  old  squaws  that  had  a  right  to  set  with 
the  bucks  when  there  was  a  council  or  some 
big  doin's.  They  kep'  a-comin'  till  the  lodge 
was  packed  like  a  stock-car,  and  they 
squatted  'round  on  the  ground,  nobody 
sayin'  a  word.  Little  Bear,  he  set  back 


114  A  Romance 

furthest  from  the  door,  and  he  made  me 
come  and  set  beside  him,  on  a  deerskin. 

"  I  couldn't  tell  what  was  goin'  to  happen ; 
but  pretty  soon,  here  come  the  supper. 
'Twas  a  bully  good  supper,  too,  and  I  was 
powerful  hungry,  'count  of  not  havin'  e't 
since  early  breakfast,  and  I  e't  with  the  best 
of  'em.  I'd  kind  o'  made  up  my  mind  I'd 
skip  the  dog,  and  I'd  tried  to  keep  my  eye  on 
the  kettle  they  had  him  in;  but  I'd  got 
flustered,  and  forgot  which  was  it.  I  e't 
some  of  everything  they  had,  and  I  reckon' 
I  got  dog  along  with  the  rest.  Didn't  mat- 
ter; I  swear  I  couldn't  tell  the  difference. 
There  was  some  o'  the  things  in  the  kettles 
that  I  hadn't  been  used  to — things  that 
tasted  as  if  they  hadn't  had  their  faces 
washed  for  a  good  spell ;  but  I  e't  'em.  I  e't 
a  mess  of  the  girl's  dumplin's,  too;  I  was 
bound  I  would,  if  it  killed  me;  but  my  in- 
sides  never  made  a  kick. 

"  While  we  was  eatin',  Little  Bear  he  was 
cuttin'  tobacco  for  the  smoke,  and  as  soon  as 


A  Romance  1 1 5 


we  was  done  he  took  a  big  red  pipe  and 
filled  it,  and  there  was  a  boy  standin'  behind 
him  that  lit  it,  and  Little  Bear  mumbled  some 
words  over  it,  like  they  do,  and  blowed 
smoke  all  around,  different  directions,  and  up 
and  down,  so  as  to  tickle  all  their  different 
gods  and  devils  and  make  'em  feel  good; 
and  then  he  passed  the  pipe  to  me,  and  I  done 
like  him  and  passed  it  on  to  the  feller  beyond 
me.  I  didn't  say  my  prayers,  though,  like 
Little  Bear ;  I  only  says,  solemn  as  I  could,  I 
says,  '  My  Lord,  what's  comin'  next ! '  and  I 
wanted  to  laugh,  only  I  didn't  dast.  It 
seemed  so  plum  foolish.  When  they  was 
done  with  the  smoke,  Little  Bear  he  stood 
up  and  began  to  make  a  speech.  Land,  how 
he  did  lay  it  on !  He  told  'em  about  that  leg 
business,  makin'  it  sound  like  I  was  a  blue- 
and-gold  hero  in  a  story-book;  and  he  said 
if  I  did  have  a  white  face  I  had  a  man's 
heart  in  me,  anyways.  He  said  he'd  been 
thinkin'  a  heap  since  I  come,  and  he'd  made 
up  his  mind  'twould  be  a  mighty  good  move 


1 1 6  A  Romance 

for  him  and  his  tribe  if  I  was  to  be  took  into 
his  family; — 'twould  most  likely  give  'em 
a  good  pull  with  gover'ment,  he  said,  to 
have  one  of  the  Great  Father's  warriors 
j'ined  in  with  his'n;  and  he'd  been  thinkin' 
that  after  what  I'd  done  for  the  boy,  he  was 
goin'  to  give  me  Miss  Big-Eye  for  my  wife, 
and  have  me  settle  down  with  'em;  and  he 
wanted  the  rest  to  speak  their  minds. 
Wouldn't  that  put  frost  on  your  whiskers? 
It  made  me  feel  like  I  was  the  corpse  at  a 
wake — I  just  set  there,  with  my  mouth 
hangin'  open,  chokin'  for  some  fresh  air.  I 
didn't  rightly  sense  what  the  rest  of  'em 
said  after  that;  only  they  got  up  and  spoke 
their  little  pieces,  like  they  thought  'twas  a 
bully  scheme.  By  and  by,  when  they'd  all 
had  their  say,  they  all  got  up  and  shook 
hands  with  me,  and  they  never  give  me  a 
chance  to  say  a  dummed  word.  I  was  all  in 
a  sweat,  and  I  wanted  to  yell.  I'd  have 
give  two  dollars  for  a  man's  drink  o' 
whiskey. 


A  Romance  117 


"  Well,  when  the  pow-pow  was  done,  Lit- 
tle Bear  he  said  there  was  goin'  to  be  some 
doin's  in  the  dance-lodge,  and  we  all  went 
down  through  the  village  to  where  there  was 
a  whalin'  big  lodge  set  up.  There'd  been  a 
fire  built  in  the  middle,  and  the  folks  was 
commencin'  to  come  in  when  we  got  there. 
The  men  was  squattin'  on  one  side,  and  the 
women  and  girls  acrost  from  'em,  like  in  a 
Quaker  meetin',  and  up  to  one  end  there  was 
two  or  three  of  the  critters  that  was  painted 
up  to  beat  the  Dickens,  and  they  had  a  couple 
o'  hide-drums  that  was  to  make  the  dance 
music.  They  was  poundin'  on  'em  and 
singin'  a  lazy,  shiftless  kind  of  a  tune  that 
I  couldn't  get  on  to ;  and  then  pretty  soon  one 
of  the  bucks  over  by  the  door,  he  give  a 
ki-yi,  and  got  up,  droppin'  his  blanket  and 
steppin'  out  towards  the  fire,  'most  naked; 
and  he  danced  a  whirl  or  two  by  himself, 
bendin'  over  in  the  middle  and  hoppin'  twice 
on  each  foot.  Ever  seen  'em  dance?  Looks 
more  like  a  drunk  chicken  than  anything  else 


1 1 8  A  Romance 

I  can  think  of.  They  didn't  seem  to  have  no 
regular  way ;  first  one  would  get  up,  and  then 
another,  and  sometimes  two  or  three  of  'em, 
and  hop  till  they  got  tired;  and  after  while 
some  o'  the  women  took  a  turn  at  it,  too, 
only  they  went  different,  standin'  flat-footed 
and  see-sawin'  up  and  down  on  their  toes. 
After  bit  there  was  a  string  of  'em  on  each 
side,  men  and  women,  goin'  it  hot-foot, 
acrost  from  each  other.  'Twas  mighty 
interestin'. 

"  We'd  been  there  an  hour,  I  reckon, 
when  Big-Eye  she  got  up  and  come  over  to 
where  I  was  settin',  beside  the  old  chief,  and 
she  stood  there,  right  in  front  o'  me,  goin' 
up  and  down  on  her  toes,  and  lookin'  at  me 
and  then  lookin'  down  to  the  ground.  I 
didn't  know  what  she  wanted,  till  Little  Bear 
says  to  me  I  was  to  get  up  and  dance  with 
her.  I  wa'n't  minded  to  be  mean,  not  after 
the  way  they'd  treated  me.  It  looked  easy 
enough,  too;  so  I  stood  up  and  commenced 
hoppin'.  You'd  ought  to  've  heerd  them 


A  Romance  119 

squaws  cackle!  I  reckon  I  must  've  looked 
some  funny,  me  not  havin'  got  the  hang  of 
it ;  and  besides,  I  hadn't  took  more  'n  a  dozen 
jumps  till  my  wind  give  out.  'Twa'n't  so 
dummed  easy  as  it  looked.  I  felt  like  I'd 
run  a  mile  over  a  big  hill.  But  I  wa'n't 
goin'  to  knuckle  down.  No,  sir-ee!  I  kep' 
on,  the  best  I  could,  and  I  was  just  wishin' 
I  hadn't  e't  such  a  terrible  big  supper,  when 
Big-Eye,  she  unhitched  the  robe  she  was 
wear  in'  and  lifted  it  up  in  her  arms  towards 
me.  We  didn't  stop  jiggin',  but  she  give 
the  robe  a  whirl,  comin'  up  clost  to  me,  and 
then  she  slung  it  right  over  our  heads,  and 
before  I  knowed  what  she  was  doin'  she'd 
ketched  me  'round  the  neck  and  pulled  my 
head  down  to  her  and  kissed  me,  smack! 
Indians  is  terrible  funny  kissers,  too.  She 
took  her  time  to  it,  and  when  I  got  to 
thinkin'  it  over  afterwards  I  made  up  my 
mind  'twa'n't  such  a  bad  kiss,  only  it  did 
taste  awful  strong  of  taller  and  wood-smoke. 
When  she  got  done,  she  sneaked  out  from 


I2O  A  Romance 

under  the  robe,  quick,  leavin'  it  hangin'  over 
me,  and  I  was  that  hot  and  rattled  I  thought 
I  never  would  get  it  pawed  off  of  me. 

"  When  I  went  and  set  down,  they  was  all 
gruntin'  and  laughin',  like  they  was  mighty 
well  tickled,  and  I  knowed  my  goose  was 
cooked,  unless  I  could  manage  to  get  some 
kind  of  a  stand-in  with  Providence;  but  I 
didn't  see  how  I  was  goin'  to  work  that. 
Me  and  Him  wa'n't  so  well  acquainted  that 
I  felt  like  askin'  Him  for  much  of  a  favour. 
I  was  mighty  glad  when  the  dance  broke  up, 
after  while,  'long  about  midnight,  and  we 
went  back  to  the  chief's  lodge. 

"  I  wa'n't  so  hungry  for  breakfast,  next 
mornin'.  I  hadn't  forgot  how  my  supper 
tasted  yet ;  and  you  know  a  feller  don't  want 
no  breakfast  them  times.  Things  wa'n't  so 
interestin'  by  daylight  as  they'd  seemed  the 
night  before,  neither.  The  squaws  had  just 
kind  o'  give  theirselves  a  lick  and  a  promise, 
with  their  dressin',  and  they  looked  like 
they'd  been  pulled  through  a  brush-patch, 


A  Romance  121 

feet  first ;  and  Big-Eye,  she  was  'most  as  bad 
as  any  of  'em.  Her  hair  wa'n't  slicked  up, 
and  she  looked  as  if  the  paint  she'd  put  on 
her  for  the  dance  the  night  before  had  all 
run  together,  red  and  yeller.  It  made  my 
mouth  get  all  dry  to  think  of  kissin'  her 
then.  There  wa'n't  nothin'  for  me  to  do  but 
just  set  and  watch  'em,  and  think. 

"  But  thinkin'  didn't  seem  to  do  me  no 
good.  After  breakfast  was  done,  the  boy  he 
come  in  from  somewheres,  and  he  told  Little 
Bear  'twas  all  right;  and  then  Little  Bear, 
he  signed  I  was  to  come  with  him,  and  he 
took  me  to  another  lodge,  right  acrost  from 
his'n,  that  was  bran'  new.  When  we  went 
in  there  wa'n't  nobody  there,  but  'twas  fixed 
up  mighty  fine,  with  skins,  and  some  cookin' 
dishes,  and  such-like ;  and  my  pony  was  tied 
to  the  rack  out  in  front.  Little  Bear,  he  said 
this  lodge  was  mine,  and  I  was  to  live  there 
till  the  weddin',  and  then  Big-Eye  would 
come  in  and  put  it  to  rights,  when  she  was 
my  wife.  That  wa'n't  the  worst,  neither; 


122  A  Romance 


for  pretty  soon  here  come  the  boy,  totin'  a 
lance,  with  eagle-feathers  hangin'  to  it,  and 
a  hide-shield,  with  more  feathers  stringin' 
down,  and  some  scalp-locks  and  bear-claws, 
all  brown  and  battered  up;  and  Little  Bear, 
he  gave  them  to  me  and  said  they  was  mine. 
Know  what  that  meant?  It  meant  there 
wa'n't  nothin'  he  could  Ve  done  that  would 
Ve  showed  his  feelin's  more  'n  that — givin' 
his  shield  and  lance  to  a  feller  that  was  goin' 
to  marry  into  the  family.  I  didn't  know 
what  to  say  to  the  old  man;  I  just  stood 
there  till  he  went  away,  and  then  I  begun 
studyin'  for  sure.  But  the  inside  of  my  head 
felt  just  about  like  a  dried  milkweed  pod — 
full  o'  fluff,  and  no  ideas.  I  couldn't  see,  to 
save  my  soul,  how  I  was  goin'  to  get  away 
from  it,  without  showin'  myself  to  have  no 
more  principle  than  a  billy-goat. 

"  Then  by  and  by  here  come  Big-Eye, 
duckin'  down  under  the  flap  of  my  lodge, 
and  another  girl  with  her.  She'd  got  her- 
self dusted  off  by  then,  and  her  best  bib  and 


A  Romance  123 


tucker  on;  and,  Billy,  I  can't  think  yet  but 
that  she  was  right  up-and-a-comin'  for  looks. 
There's  lots  of  fellers  that  wouldn't  have 
wanted  nothin'  better  than  to  stay  right 
where  I  was  and  take  my  chances.  Big-Eye 
and  the  other  girl,  they  come  in,  and  Big- 
Eye  she'd  got  a  dish  of  somethin'  she  was 
carryin'  in  front  of  her.  Neither  of  'em 
said  a  word,  but  Big-Eye,  she  come  and  set 
the  dish  down  in  front  of  me,  and  then  the 
two  of  'em  went  and  set  down  by  the  door, 
waitin'.  That  was  the  way  a  girl  had  to  do, 
when  she  was  goin'  to  marry  a  feller — had  to 
bring  him  his  grub,  and  wait  on  him.  'Twas 
just  one  more  sign.  When  I'd  e't,  she  come 
and  picked  up  the  dish  and  took  it  away.  I 
wished  she'd  stayed  a  spell,  till  I  could  've 
found  out  what  she  was  thinkin'.  That  was 
what  worried  me  most.  Times  when  I'd 
look  at  her,  her  eyes  would  just  be  shinin', 
away  down  deep  in  'em,  and  to  save  my  sin- 
ful soul  from  the  everlastin'  gridiron,  I 
couldn't  tell  whether  the  shine  was  from  her 


124  A  Romance 

wantin'  to  laugh,  or  whether  'twas — you 
know — feelin's.  I  reckon  what  worried  me 
most  was  dreadin'  that  she  was  just  coddin' 
with  me.  You  know  a  young  feller  can 
stand  'most  anything  but  that  from  a  pretty 
girl.  And  I  knowed  there  was  a  streak  of 
French  in  her. 

"  Well,  then,  along  in  the  afternoon  I  be- 
gun to  get  visits  from  the  men- folks.  Little 
Bear,  he  come  first,  and  with  him  was  a 
feller  leadin'  three  or  four  ponies.  Them 
was  a  present  to  me.  And  then  another  old 
man  come,  and  he  give  me  a  shirt  and 
breeches,  buckskin,  all  worked  with  beads 
and  fringe.  Land,  land ;  you'd  ought  to  've 
seen.  Pretty  soon  the  inside  of  my  lodge 
looked  like  a  junkshop.  Weddin'  presents 
is  mighty  particular  things  with  Indians — 
leastways,  with  Sioux;  with  a  Sioux, 
weddin'  presents  is  like  the  buttons  on  a  suit 
of  clothes:  they're  what  makes  it  hang  to- 
gether. And  you  can  tell  by  the  presents 
they  give  what  they  think  of  a  feller,  too. 


A  Romance  125 


That's  what  made  me  feel  so  ornery,  me 
knowin'  I  was  goin'  to  fool  'em  if  I  could. 
'Twas  my  place  to  give  things  back  to  'em, 
too,  and  I  didn't  have  nothin'.  That  was 
what  set  me  to  studyin'  harder  than  ever, 
after  they'd  gone,  and  it  helped  me  out.  It 
come  to  me  all  of  a  sudden,  and  it  made  me 
feel  like  I'd  found  a  quarter  in  the  pocket  of 
an  old  vest.  Know  what  that  feels  like? 
It's  a  mighty  blessed  feelin'.  I  just  quit 
worryin',  and  I  waited  till  Big-Eye  come 
with  my  supper;  and  then,  when  she'd  gone, 
I  got  myself  together  and  f oiler ed  her. 

"  Little  Bear  was  settin'  back  in  his  lodge, 
and  two  or  three  of  the  old  men  was  with 
him,  visitin'.  Indian  visits  is  just  about  the 
unsociablest  things  you  can  think  of;  they 
was  just  settin'  there,  lookin'  at  the  fire ;  and 
when  I  come  in  they  didn't  hardly  move  nor 
wink,  only  that  Little  Bear  made  a  place  for 
me  to  set  beside  him,  on  his  pile  of  skins. 
But  I  didn't  want  to  do  no  settin'  then, 
because  my  scheme  was  already  hatched.  I 


126  A  Romance 

just  stood  up  and  started  in  to  make  my 
speech.  I  knowed  just  enough  Sioux-talk 
to  make  it  hang  together.  The  women  quit 
workin',  and  everybody  listened,  and  I  begun 
to  feel  like  the  end-man  in  one  of  these  here 
minstrel  shows;  but  their  faces  didn't  have 
no  more  look  to  'em  than  toads'.  That's 
what  makes  it  so  devilish  hard  to  deal  with 
'em :  you  can't  never  tell  what  they're 
thinkin',  by  their  faces,  no  more  than  you  can 
with  a  clothing-store  dummy.  But  when 
they  take  a  shine  to  a  feller,  they  don't  ask 
no  questions;  they  just  take  it  for  granted 
that  he's  playin'  it  fair  and  square,  and  they 
trust  him ;  and  that's  the  way  they  done  with 
me. 

"You'd  ought  to  've  heerd  that  speech, 
Billy.  I  started  in  with  tellin'  'em  a  lingo 
about  me  and  the  Great  Father,  down  to 
Washington,  and  about  how  much  he  set  by 
me,  and  how  the  Great  Father  had  just  sent 
me  out  to  run  an  errand  for  him,  and  neither 
one  of  us  hadn't  suspicioned  'twas  goin'  to 


A  Romance  127 


be  my  weddin'  trip,  so  I  hadn't  come  fixed. 
'Twa'n't  right,  I  says,  that  one  of  the  Great 
Father's  warriors  should  get  caught  that-a- 
way,  like  a  beggar,  after  what  they'd  done 
for  me,  with  the  weddin'  presents,  and  I 
said  the  Great  Father  would  be  mighty  hot 
if  he  knowed  I'd  gone  off  and  got  married  to 
Big-Eye  without  no  more  style  than  that. 
That  was  gospel-true,  too!  So,  I  says,  I 
must  get  the  weddin'  put  off  till  I'd  had 
time  to  slide  down  to  my  post  and  do  the 
thing  up  right,  and  accordin'  to  Hoyle.  I 
didn't  wait  for  'em  to  say  aye,  yes,  nor  no; 
I  just  says :  '  I'm  goin'  down  the  river,  and 
when  I  come  back,  I'll  come  like  a  man  ought 
to  come,  times  like  this,  when  he  wants  to 
warm  up  and  be  liberal.' 

"  I  don't  know  why  'twas,  unless  'twas 
that  I'd  done  the  right  thing  in  the  first 
place,  with  the  boy's  leg.  The  whole  passel 
of  'em  set  like  stumps  till  I'd  got  through, 
and  then  two  or  three  of  the  old  men  give  a 
grunt  from  the  Amen-corner,  and  I  knowed 


128  A  Romance 


I'd  ketched  'em.  They'd  been  mighty 
liberal  to  give;  but  I  knowed  they'd  be 
willin'  to  take  from  me,  just  as  liberal.  So 
I  said  I  was  goin'  down  and  get  the  truck  to 
bring  back.  Little  Bear,  he  shook  hands 
with  me,  like  it  suited  him  first-rate,  and  he 
asks  me  if  I  was  goin'  in  the  mornin'.  *  No,' 
I  says,  '  I'm  goin'  right  now,  so  as  I  can  get 
back  quicker,'  and  Little  Bear,  he  sent  the 
boy  to  fetch  my  pony  for  me.  While  I  was 
waitin',  with  my  feet  fair  itchin'  for  the 
stirrups,  I  turned  'round  to  where  Big-Eye 
was  settin'  with  the  women,  lookin'  at  me. 
It  took  all  the  nerve  I  had;  but  I  just  went 
over  to  her  and  lifted  her  up  onto  her  feet, 
and  then  I  give  her  a  bustin'  big  kiss,  right 
in  front  of  'em  all.  I  was  bound  I'd  be 
square  with  her  on  that  score,  anyway. 

"  She  never  blinked ;  she  just  stood  there, 
lookin'  at  me,  and  lookin'  and  lookin',  with 
that  shine  comin'  in  her  eyes,  like  a  big  star 
in  the  bottom  of  a  well.  I  couldn't  make  it 
out,  nohow.  That's  forty  year  ago ;  but  I'd 


A  Romance  129 

give  four  dollars,  right  this  minute,  to  know 
what  she  was  thinkin'.  When  she'd  got  done 
lookin'  at  me,  she  stuck  her  hand  down  inside 
her  frock,  somewheres,  and  pulled  out  these 
two  elk-teeth,  tied  with  this  very  string,  and 
she  reached  up  and  hung  it  'round  my  neck. 
For  remembrance,  she  said  'twas,  and  lucky 
medicine.  Then  my  pony  come,  and  I  want 
to  tell  you  I  made  a  long  streak  of  trail  be- 
fore sun-up;  and  I  didn't  look  for  no  land- 
marks to  find  the  back-trail,  neither. 

"  But,  Billy,  supposin'  I'd  stayed — just 
supposin'  I  had.  I  had  the  chance,  and 
there  was  pretty  near  enough  o'  the  devil  in 
me,  them  days,  to  make  me  want  to  take  it. 
Even  yet,  sometimes,  when  I  get  so  dummed 
sick  and  tired  of  towns  and  railroads  and 
asphalt  pavin',  and  all  such  foolishness,  it 
comes  over  me  to  'most  wish  I'd  took  up  with 
Little  Bear  and  his  outfit.  I'd  've  had  the 
girl,  for  one  thing,  and  I'd  Ve  found  out 
what  them  eyes  meant — and  then  mebbe  I'd 
Ve  been  sorry  when  I  did  know.  My  kids 


130  A  Romance 

wouldn't  Ve  been  red-headed,  like  they 
be  now — or  mebbe  they  would:  there's 
no  tellin'  what  might  've  cropped  out  in 
the  stock,  besides  French.  I'd  be  rich, 
most  likely — or  poor.  Mebbe  my  name 
would  be  Big-Chief- With-a-Fence-Around- 
the-Earth,  or  mebbe  it  'd  be  just  plain  Mud. 
The  Lord  knows — and  He's  mighty  close- 
mouthed." 


VI 


ONE  day,  as  Uncle  Mac  and  I  stood  to- 
gether upon  the  main  street  of  River- 
town,  a  burly,  unkempt  fellow,  whose  right 
arm  was  held  in  a  dirty  bandage  and  sling, 
slouched  up  to  us  and  struck  at  once 
into  the  thousand  and  first  rehearsal  of  his 
ill  luck  and  sufferings,  ending  with  a  brazen 
plea  for  alms.  He  was  a  fair  specimen  of 
his  class;  he  looked  like  the  merest  rough 
charcoal  study  of  a  man,  done  by  an  amateur- 
ish hand;  his  nondescript  attire,  loose  fatty 
figure,  and  dull  face  made  a  very  inadequate 
sum-total  of  manliness.  His  plea  was 
addressed  to  Uncle  Mac,  as  though  his 
experience  had  yielded  a  certain  power  of 
discrimination.  He  was  undoubtedly  ex- 
perienced; he  spoke  with  a  callous  overcon- 
fidence,  and  his  plaint  had  been  so  often 
131 


132        Law- Abiding  Citizens 

unrolled  and  rewound  that  it  was  worn 
smooth  and  threadbare. 

Uncle  Mac  listened  until  the  woeful  tale 
had  dragged  its  slow  length  along  to  a  con- 
clusion; and  as  he  listened  his  feet  were 
spread  wide  apart,  his  hands  were  pushed 
deep  into  his  pockets,  and  his  blue,  seeing 
eyes  were  intent  upon  the  rude  face  of  the 
beggar,  who,  when  the  last  word  was  spoken, 
stood  with  his  free  hand  expectantly  out- 
stretched. 

"  You're  a  terrible  clumsy  liar,"  Uncle 
Mac  said  gravely.  The  other  raised  his 
ready  hand  toward  heaven. 

"  I'll  take  my  oath  I  ain't  said  a  word  that 
ain't  God's  truth." 

"Shucks!"  Uncle  Mac  retorted,  with 
ineffable  scorn.  "  I'll  bet  four  dollars  there 
ain't  a  thing  the  matter  with  your  arm;  or 
if  there  is,  you've  blistered  it  with  medicine, 
to  make  it  look  pitiful.  I've  knowed  your 
kind  before  now." 

The    beggar    turned    away,    muttering 


Law-Abiding  Citizens        133 

surlily;  but  Uncle  Mac  called  after  him: 
"  On  honour,  now ;  is  there  anything  the 
matter  with  you  ?  " 

"  What's  it  to  you?  "  the  fellow  growled. 
Uncle  Mac's  answer  was  to  flip  into  the  air 
a  silver  dime,  which  the  beggar  caught 
deftly. 

"There's  just  one  chance  in  a  thousand 
you're  hungry,"  the  good  old  man  said,  as 
though  he  felt  obliged  to  seek  a  justification 
for  the  gift,  "  and  I  don't  like  to  think  I've 
mebbe  let  anybody  go  that-a-way.  But  I'd 
give  dollars  to  the  man  that  would  tell  me 
what's  to  be  done  with  the  likes  of  you.  I 
do  hate  like  sin  to  take  what  ought  to  be 
give  to  them  that's  deservin',  and  give  it 
to  such  critters  as  you,  that  ain't  got  no 
more  decent  pride  in  you  than  a  salt  cod- 
fish." 

The  man  pocketed  the  coin  with  an  air  of 
bravado  and  ambled  down  the  street,  Uncle 
Mac  gazing  after  him  sadly. 

"  We  never  had  none  like  that  chap  out 


134       Law- Abiding  Citizens 

here,  early  days,"  he  said  presently. 
"  They'd  have  made  a  mighty  poor  shift. 
There  was  lots  of  them  old-timers  that 
wa'n't  no-ways  backward  about  coaxin' 
each  other's  money  away;  but  they  done  it 
different  ways  from  beggin'.  'Twas  fairer, 
too;  because  when  a  feller  begs  from  you, 
you  don't  have  no  show  on  earth  except  to 
dig  down  in  your  clothes  and  give  to  him, 
but  if  he  only  tries  to  cheat  it  out  of  you, 
why,  you've  got  just  as  good  a  chance  as 
him. 

"  I  don't  say  there  was  such  a  great  sight 
of  cheatin'  done,  neither,  them  days,  more 
than  other  times — not  hardly  as  much,  be- 
cause folks  was  on  honour  a  good  deal,  and 
that  always  makes  a  man  pretty  apt  to  stand 
up  to  the  rack.  I  know  I'd  trust  'most  any- 
body, them  days,  a  sight  quicker  than  I 
would  now,  since  they've  got  such  stacks  of 
law  to  hide  behind.  We  didn't  have  no  law 
then,  to  speak  of;  but  a  feller  can't  hardly 
turn  'round,  now-days,  even  mindin'  his  own 


Law- Abiding  Citizens       135 

business,  without  gettin'  all  balled  up  in  a 
mess  of  nasty  little  laws.  I  don't  like  it. 
Why,  a  man  knows  if  a  thing's  right,  don't 
he  ?  And  if  he  won't  do  it  because  it's  right, 
he  ain't  liable  to  do  it  any  quicker  just  be- 
cause it's  law,  is  he?  Not  by  a  dummed 
sight.  Them  days,  when  we  didn't  have  no 
law,  it  just  kind  o'  learned  us  that  we'd  got 
to  do  the  best  we  knowed  and  look  after 
ourselves;  and  that  helped  us  to  know  that 
we'd  got  to  look  out  for  other  folks,  too, 
same  time.  We  got  to  know  each  other, 
when  we  wa'n't  afraid  to  stand  up  and  let 
folks  see  what  we  looked  like  and  what  we 
could  do  for  ourselves  when  it  come  to  a 
show-down. 

"  Oh,  we  was  law-abidin'  citizens,  them 
days,"  he  chuckled.  "  We  didn't  know 
what  the  law  was,  nor  not  even  if  there  was 
any;  and  what's  more,  we  didn't  care;  but 
we  had  a  mighty  big  respect  for  it,  just  the 
same.  Why,  I  mind  a  time — early  summer 
of  '60,  I  think  'twas — out  on  the  Salt 


136       Law- Abiding  Citizens 

Lake  trail  a  piece  west  from  the  river. 
There'd  been  a  passel  of  horse-thieves  pes- 
terin'  'round  out  there  amongst  the  settlers, 
runnin'  off  their  critters,  and  they  was  like 
most  of  that  kind :  they  didn't  have  no  sense. 
They  didn't  get  ketched,  right  at  first,  and 
that  made  'em  get  careless,  until  by  and  by 
the  settlers  made  up  a  committee  and  went 
after  'em.  One  day  I  come  along  the  trail 
with  a  freightin'  outfit,  goin'  West,  and 
when  we  got  to  where  the  trail  crossed  a 
little  creek,  where  the  willers  and  cotton- 
woods  was  growin',  we  seen  that  the  com- 
mittee had  bent  over  some  of  the  young 
trees  for  a  kind  of  a  scaffold,  and  they'd 
strung  up  two  fellers  and  left  'em  hangin'. 
They  didn't  look  right  pretty,  swingin'  right 
where  we  had  to  pass  under;  but  we  didn't 
feel  that  we  had  any  call  to  monkey  with 
'em,  us  bein'  strangers  in  them  parts.  But 
when  we  come  to  the  next  settler's  place,  we 
spoke  up  about  it.  'Twas  gettin'  towards 
dark,  and  the  old  man  was  settin'  out  in 


Law- Abiding  Citizens        137 

front  of  the  house,  smokin',  while  his  woman 
was  gettin'  supper,  and  he'd  got  one  of  his 
dogs  crawled  half-way  up  onto  his  lap,  and 
he  was  scratchin'  it  behind  the  ears,  cozy  and 
comfortable.  I  can  see  him  yet.  We  pulled 
up,  and  I  hollered  to  the  feller,  and  I  says, 
'  Say,  did  you  know  there's  a  couple  chaps 
been  strung  up,  back  at  the  crossin'  ?  '  He 
pulls  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  and  spits, 
and  he  says,  '  Yep,  I  know.  I  reckon  I 
ought  to;  I  helped  do  it.'  'Well/  I  says, 
'  but  ain't  it  kind  o'  on-Christian,  leavin' 
'em  that-a-way?  Why  don't  you  cut  'em 
down  and  bury  'em  ?  '  '  Land,  no ! '  he  says. 
1  Why,  mister,  we  ain't  got  no  authority  to 
cut  'em  down.  But  we  notified  the  coroner,' 
he  says,  *  so  it  can  be  done  accordin'  to  law/ 
That  just  shows ! 

"  But  the  most  fun  was  after  while,  when 
the  boys  begun  to  get  kind  o'  tired  of  hittin' 
off  justice  amongst  themselves,  the  best  they 
could,  and  when  they  was  gettin'  sort  o' 
prideful,  and  wanted  to  have  justices  of  the 


138       Law- Abiding  Citizens 

peace,  and  such.  Out  around  the  edges  there 
wa'n't  many  men  with  good  sense  that  could 
afford  to  neglect  their  business  to  play  at  jus- 
tice— there  wa'n't  enough  in  it ;  so  them  that 
was  elected  was  mostly  pretty  raw. 

"  There  was  one  Dutch  farmer  out  in 
Frontier  County  that  had  got  elected  because 
there  wa'n't  nobody  runnin'  against  him,  and 
he'd  kep'  the  place  till  his  time  was  nigh  up, 
without  havin'  no  cases.  But  then,  along 
one  fall,  there  was  a  young  feller  out  there 
on  a  farm  that  shot  another  feller  in  a  fight, 
while  they  was  drunk,  and  he  got  hauled  up. 
The  folks  up  there  was  mighty  much  inter- 
ested, because  they  all  knowed  the  boy's  fam- 
ily, and  his  daddy  was  rich ;  and  when  it  got 
to  be  knowed  that  there  was  three  or  four 
lawyers  comin'  out  all  the  way  from  Omaha 
and  Council  Bluffs,  why,  seemed  like  every- 
body that  could  crawl  come  in  to  the  hearin'. 
I  knowed  that  old  Dutchman  mighty  well, 
and  there  wa'n't  no  honester  old  rooster  on 
the  prairies;  but  he  wa'n't  a  bit  bright 


Law- Abiding  Citizens        139 

in  his  mind — just  stupid-honest,  you  know, 
like  a  Dutchman  is. 

"  Well,  they  had  it  up  and  down  for  two 
days,  listenin'  to  the  folks  that  was  called  for 
witnesses;  and  I  ain't  never  seen  lawyers 
work  so  hard.  When  the  witnesses  was  all 
through,  they  turned  in  and  argued  and 
ripped  and  stormed,  first  one  and  then  the 
other,  for  a  whole  day;  and  after  supper 
they  come  back  at  it  again.  The  old  Dutch- 
man was  holdin'  his  court  out  in  his  barn, 
and  he'd  had  his  women-folks  just  spread 
themselves,  cookin',  and  everybody  that  had 
come  a  good  piece  to  'tend  the  hearin' — pris- 
oner and  lawyers  and  everybody — was  his 
company,  and  he'd  just  laid  himself  out  to 
make  them  comfortable.  He'd  got  a  heart  in 
him  as  deep  as  a  well.  There  wa'n't  a  word 
said  by  any  of  the  witnesses  but  what  the  boy 
had  done  the  shootin',  with  nothin'  to  make 
him  do  it  except  he  was  drunk;  but  the  other 
chap  had  got  him  drunk,  first  place;  and  I 
knowed  the  old  chap  so  well,  and  what  ten- 


140       Law- Abiding  Citizens 

der  insides  he  had,  I  just  made  a  little  side- 
bet  with  myself  that  he'd  let  the  boy  go,  if 
he  could  anyways  at  all,  more  especially  as 
the  other  man  had  got  well  from  the  bullet. 
I  kep'  watchin'  him,  settin'  up  there  on  the 
lid  of  his  feed-box,  where  he  could  be  com- 
fortable, smokin',  and  not  openin'  his  head. 
Dutchmen  may  be  stupid,  but  they're  mostly 
mighty  cute  about  it.  He  didn't  say  a  word 
to  give  himself  away,  though  I  could  see  that 
half  the  time  he  couldn't  make  head  nor  tail 
of  what  they  was  sayin'  to  him.  Little  as 
I  knowed,  it  was  scandalous  the  things 
them  lawyers  tried  to  tell  the  old  feller  was 
law. 

"  He'd  been  used  to  going  to  bed  about 
sundown,  so  when  they  went  back  to  the 
barn  after  supper,  and  started  down  the 
homestretch  with  their  arguin',  every  little 
while  they'd  have  to  stop  and  wait  till  some- 
body 'd  go  and  poke  Mister  Justice,  to  wake 
him  up,  because  when  he'd  drop  off  to  sleep, 
he'd  snore  like  a  Guinea-hen,  and  nobody 


Law- Abiding  Citizens       141 

couldn't  hear  nothin'.  But  along  towards 
'leven  o'clock,  when  they  was  all  as  hoarse  as 
barn-hinges,  they  quit,  and  one  of  them  that 
was  defendin'  the  boy,  he  says,  s  Now,  your 
Honour,  we're  all  willin'  to  stop  right  here 
and  let  you  decide/  and  the  rest  of  'em  said 
they  would,  too.  The  Dutchman,  his  pipe 
had  gone  out,  but  he  lit  it  up  and  smoked  a 
minute,  and  then  he  says,  '  Well,  what  be  I 
goin'  to  do  ?  You  fellers  ain't  told  me  what 
the  law  is  yet,'  he  said.  '  You  talked  a  heap, 
and  I  been  thinkin'  you  might  mebbe  work 
round  to  it  and  agree  on  somethin' ;  but  you 
ain't  done  it.  Seems  like  you're  further  apart 
than  when  you  started  in,'  he  says,  *  and  it 
looks  now  as  if  I'd  got  to  make  up  my  mind 
for  myself,  after  all,  and  that's  what  I'm 
goin'  to  do.  It's  a  principle  o'  law/  he  says, 
'  that  when  a  feller's  in  doubt,  why,  the  pris- 
oner's got  to  be  give  the  benefit  of  it,  and  he's 
got  to  be  let  go.  I  don't  know  what  the  law 
is,  and  my  doubts  has  been  gettin'  bigger 
ever  since  you  commenced;  and  so,  if  this 


142       Law- Abiding  Citizens 

boy  '11  give  me  his  word  that  he's  sorry  and 
won't  get  drunk  no  more,  nor  do  no  more 
shootin',  but  '11  just  go  back  home  to  his 
folks,  why,  I'm  goin'  to  let  him  go  free.  If 
that  suits  you,  Ed/  he  says  to  the  boy,  '  you 
can  go/  And  with  that  he  gets  down  off  the 
feed-box,  and  stretches  himself,  and  gaps, 
and  goes  pokin'  off  to  bed.  And  the  boy 
turned  out  all  right,  too. 

"  There  was  another  time  I  mind,  as  bad 
as  that  one.  'Twas  up  at  Florence.  There 
was  an  old  chap  up  there  that  was  a  justice, 
with  a  wooden  leg  and  not  a  lick  o'  sense. 
He  didn't  have  nothin'  to  do  neither,  till  one 
day  there  was  a  feller  got  fined  three  dollars 
for  fightin'.  The  feller  slung  the  money 
down  on  the  table,  and  the  justice  picked  it 
up  and  set  jinglin'  it  in  his  hand  a  minute, 
lookin'  at  it,  and  turnin'  it  over ;  and  then  he 
says,  kind  o'  bothered,  to  us  that  was 
standin'  'round,  he  says,  '  Now,  what  am  I 
goin'  to  do  with  this  here  ?  Who  does  it  be- 
long to? '  he  says.  It  come  on  me  all  of  a 


Law- Abiding  Citizens        143 

sudden,  like  devilment  always  does;  and  I 
says  to  him,  '  Why,  it's  your'n ;  you  can  do 
as  you  please  with  it;'  and  the  feller  that  had 
been  fined,  he  chips  in  and  he  says  so,  too. 
We  knowed  mighty  well  what  would  happen 
— the  same  thing  that  always  happened  when 
the  old  chap  had  any  money  to  spend.  He 
just  took  the  whole  bunch  of  us  across 
the  road  to  a  saloon  and  stood  treat,  long  as 
the  money  lasted — and  that  was  long  enough 
to  get  him  so  that  he  didn't  know  which  way 
was  up.  Come  night,  he  was  so  bad  that 
three  or  four  of  the  boys  set  off  to  take  him 
to  the  shack  where  he  slept ;  but  he  got  half- 
way there  and  then  he  went  to  sleep  between 
them  that  was  holdin'  him,  and  they  laid  him 
down  beside  the  road.  The  feller  that  had 
put  up  the  money  to  start  with,  it  was  his 
notion.  They  gathered  up  some  weeds  and 
sticks  and  built  a  little  bonfire  on  top  o'  the 
old  rooster's  peg-leg,  and  burnt  the  end  of 
it  plum  off. 

"  We  all  done  things  that  wa'n't  set  down 


144       Law- Abiding  Citizens 

in  no  book,  them  days,  without  botherin'  our 
heads  about  the  law  for  it.  There  was  the 
Underground  Railroad,  for  one  thing,  when 
old  John  Brown  was  rummagin'  'round 
down  in  Kansas  and  Missouri,  with  his 
gang,  stealin'  niggers  and  sendin'  'em  off  to 
places  where  they'd  be  took  care  of  and 
turned  loose.  They  was  mostly  sent  over  to 
Canada;  but  there  was  towns  all  along 
where  there  was  stations  on  the  Under- 
ground, and  where  the  gang  would  stop  to 
get  the  niggers  rested  and  fed  up.  Seemed 
like  everybody  took  sides,  one  way  or  the 
other,  and  sometimes  it  'd  make  a  heap  o* 
trouble. 

"  The  only  time  I  ever  seen  old  Brown 
was  one  day  down  to  Falls  City — '57,  I 
believe  'twas — when  he  was  makin'  one  of 
his  trips  over  to  loway  with  a  bunch  of  nig- 
gers. That  was  one  of  the  things  I  was 
talkin'  about  a  while  ago.  'Twa'n't  no  ways 
law-abidin'  to  run  them  niggers  off.  Ac- 
cordin'  to  law,  old  Brown  was  a  thief  when 


Law- Abiding  Citizens       145 

he  stole  'em,  and  us  that  helped  him  was  as 
bad  as  him.  But  what  did  we  care  ?  'Twa'n't 
because  we  loved  the  niggers,  nor  yet  for 
meanness;  but  it  just  seemed  like  as  if  it 
was  in  the  wind,  and  ketchin',  when  a  few 
men  like  Brown  and  Jim  Lane  started  it. 
I've  always  noticed  that  it  don't  take  more 
than  one  good  man  to  make  a  thousand 
others  get  to  work.  Brown,  he  was  just  one 
of  them  kind.  Jim  Lane  was  more  human, 
like  other  folks;  but  things  wouldn't  have 
been  done  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Brown.  He'd 
got  his  head  set  just  one  way,  and  there 
wa'n't  no  turnin'  him ;  so  it  seemed  like  there 
wa'n't  nothin'  for  the  rest  of  us  to  do  but  to 
tail  after  him. 

"  I  just  happened  to  be  down  to  Falls  City 
that  day  when  Brown  sent  word  up  that  he 
was  comin',  and  that  he'd  want  his  niggers 
fed  up  and  some  clothes  got  ready  for  'em, 
and  a  place  to  sleep.  I  knowed  some  of  the 
boys  down  there,  and  I  turned  in  to  help  'em. 
We  tried  to  keep  it  as  still  as  we  could ;  but 


146       Law- Abiding  Citizens 

there  was  some  pro-Slave  folks  around  town 
got  wind  of  it,  and  they  made  their  brags 
about  what  they  was  goin'  to  do.  'Twas 
just  a  little  ways  over  to  Missouri,  and  they 
was  payin'  big  money  there  for  niggers  that 
was  brought  back  to  'em.  Near  dark,  there 
was  so  much  talk  that  three  or  four  of  us 
fellers  took  our  rifles  and  rode  out  horseback 
so  as  to  meet  Brown  and  look  after  him 
some,  comin'  into  town.  Look  after  John 
Brown!  Like  talkin'  about  takin'  care  of 
sun-up  so  nothin'  won't  happen  to  it. 

"  Four  or  five  mile  out  we  come  on  a 
mean-lookin'  waggon  drawed  by  mule-teams, 
with  a  feller  ridin'  alongside.  It  didn't  ap- 
pear to  be  much  of  an  outfit,  and  we  turned 
our  ponies  out  to  go  past  it,  when  the  man 
that  was  ridin'  horseback,  he  sung  out  to 
know  where  we  was  goin'.  I  says  to  him, 
'  Oh,  we're  just  goin'  along  on  our  own  busi- 
ness ;  '  and  he  says,  '  Be  you  lookin'  for  John 
Brown  ? '  It  r'iled  me,  havin'  him  inter- 
fering and  I  said,  '  What  odds  is  it  to  you 


Law- Abiding  Citizens       147 

who  we're  lookin'  for?  '  He  didn't  seem  to 
care ;  he  just  says,  quiet,  *  If  you're  lookin' 
for  Brown,  I'm  him.'  It  was  right  on  the 
end  of  my  tongue  to  tell  him  he  was  a  liar; 
but  then  I  reckoned  I'd  better  wait  a  minute. 
I  been  thankful  ever  since  that  I  did  wait. 
But  I  was  terrible  disappointed.  I'd  heerd 
tell  so  much  about  Brown  and  his  doin's,  I 
expected  to  see  a  man  seven  foot  tall  and  big 
as  a  barrel;  but  he  wa'n't  neither  one.  He 
was  just  a  common-lookin'  chap,  for  size, 
settin'  humped  over  in  his  saddle  like  any- 
body else,  joggin'  along  easy.  'Twas  his 
face  that  shut  me  up.  I  never  seen  a  face 
like  it,  before  nor  since;  it  looked  like  'twas 
made  out  of  rock,  with  a  jaw  like  a  bear- 
trap,  and  eyes  that  looked  plum  through  me 
and  out  on  the  other  side.  Yes,  sir;  I'm 
mighty  glad  I  didn't  say  what  I  was  goin' 
to.  Come  to  find  out,  there  was  seven 
niggers  in  under  that  ragged  old  waggon- 
cover,  and  just  Brown  and  the  driver  to 
look  after  'em.  If  I'd  been  him,  I'd  have 


148       Law- Abiding  Citizens 

wanted    a    half -company    escort,    anyway. 
But  Brown,  he  wa'n't  a  mite  bothered. 

"  When  we  was  goin'  back  towards  town, 
I  kind  o'  wanted  to  square  myself  with  the 
old  man  for  the  way  I'd  spoke,  and  I  up  and 
told  him  about  the  trouble  we  was  afraid  of 
when  we  got  there.  I  talked  a  heap,  tellin' 
him  everything  I  knowed,  and  a  lot  more  be- 
sides; but  he  didn't  seem  to  be  half-listenin', 
and  when  I'd  come  to  a  stoppin'-place,  he 
just  shook  his  head,  kind  o'  careless,  and  he 
says,  quiet  as  ever,  '  There  ain't  goin'  to  be 
no  trouble.'  How  did  he  know?  It  made 
me  tired,  bein'  turned  down  that  way,  and  I 
sailed  in  and  told  it  all  over  again,  tellin' 
about  the  brags  the  pro-Slaves  had  made, 
and  what  they  was  goin'  to  do,  till  Brown 
shut  me  off;  and  he  says,  '  Young  man,  you 
don't  never  need  to  be  scared  of  them  that 
makes  their  brags  about  stoppin'  the  Lord's 
work,  because  that's  a  brag  that  no  livin'  man 
can  make  stick.'  So  I  shut  up;  and  Brown, 
he  took  us  right  to  the  place  where  he'd  been 


Law- Abiding  Citizens        149 

used  to  stoppin'  other  trips;  and  when  we 
got  there,  Brown  made  the  niggers  get  down 
out  of  the  waggon,  and  he  turned  'em  into  a 
barn,  and  they  cooked  their  supper  and  went 
to  sleep,  with  two  or  three  of  us  standin* 
post. 

"  Brown  he  wa'n't  no  more  bothered 
than  a  man  would  be  that's  takin'  a  waggon- 
load  of  hogs  to  the  stockyards.  He  slept 
with  'em  in  the  barn,  layin'  down  on  a  pile  of 
fodder,  with  a  blanket  wrapped  'round  him, 
and  he  took  his  turn  with  the  rest  of  us, 
watchin'.  He'd  been  right  about  it,  too; 
there  wa'n't  a  whisper  of  trouble  all  night, 
and  come  mornin'  he  let  them  take  their  time 
gettin'  breakfast,  and  after  while  he  got  'em 
loaded  up  and  started  on.  I  ain't  never  for- 
got it,  nor  I  wouldn't  take  a  new  red  waggon 
for  what  it  learned  me.  No,  sir;  a  man  that 
knows  he's  right,  he  don't  need  to  be  scared 
of  law  nor  nothin'  else.  Trouble  is,  I  reckon, 
there  ain't  so  many  that's  dead  sure  they're 
right. 


150      Law- Abiding  Citizens 

"  I've  seen  the  other  kind,  too,  plenty. 
There  was  one  chap  I  remember,  that  I 
knowed  long  before  '60,  when  Florence 
was  the  big  town,  instead  of  Omaha.  This 
chap  was  a  Scotch  Presbyterian,  and  he 
thought  more  of  a  dollar  than  'most  anybody 
else  I  ever  met  up  with;  and  it  was  awful 
funny  the  way  he  tried  to  work  it  sometimes, 
to  make  his  religion  fit  in  with  his  schemes 
for  gettin'  rich.  After  a  bit,  when  Florence 
begun  to  peter  out,  and  Omaha  was  on  the 
boom,  there  was  lots  of  folks  that  set  their 
houses  up  on  wheels  and  moved  'em  down 
the  road,  and  this  feller  had  contracts  for  a 
lot  of  that  work.  There  was  good  money  in 
it,  and  the  different  outfits  was  terrible  jeal- 
ous of  each  other.  The  Scotchman,  he'd  got 
the  biggest  end  of  it  somehow,  but  there  was 
one  thing  about  him  that  wa'n't  like  the  rest : 
he  wouldn't  work  on  Sunday.  No,  sir. 
Come  Sunday,  when  the  rest  'd  be  hustlin' 
same  as  other  days,  he'd  just  lay  by,  studyin' 
his  catechism  and  singin'  hymns  through  his 


Law- Abiding  Citizens       151 

big  red  nose,  and  waitin'  for  Monday.  But 
I  could  see  it  worried  him  a  heap,  lettin'  the 
rest  of  'em  get  in  an  extry  day  on  him ;  and 
then,  one  Sunday  I  come  on  him,  up  yon- 
der, and  his  gang  was  movin'  a  house.  He 
wa'n't  doin'  nothin'  himself,  only  just 
standin'  off  to  one  side  of  the  road,  with  his 
hands  behind  him,  watchin'  'em.  '  Why, 
hello,  Scotchy! '  I  says:  '  How's  this?  Got 
converted  ? '  And  what  do  you  reckon  he 
told  me?  '  No,'  he  says, '  but  I  hired  another 
gang.  These  here  is  all  Irish,  and  Cath'lics. 
They're  predestinated  to  be  damned  any- 
way,' he  says,  '  and  so  I  figured  it  out  that  I 
might  just  as  well  be  makin'  my  percentage 
off  of  'em." 

"  Oh,  there  was  all  kinds,  and  they  done 
all  kinds  of  ways.  I  don't  know  how  your 
book-learnt  chaps  would  explain  it  out,  Billy; 
but  we  got  on,  and  seemed  like  we  done  as 
well  as  they  do  now,  when  there  wasn't  a 
legislature,  nor  hardly  a  lawyer,  this  side  the 
Mississippi.  Here's  me :  I've  never  had  no 


152       Law- Abiding  Citizens 

truck  with  lawyers  all  my  life,  and  I've  al- 
ways got  on;  and  I  don't  know  no  more 
about  law  than  I  know  about  the  cost  of 
layin'  gold  pavements  in  the  New  Jerusa- 
lem." 


VII 
3be  Caee  of  private  Sam 

YOU  let  me  tell  you  a  true  word/'  said 
Uncle  Mac.  "  It  ain't  the  things 
that  happens  to  a  feller  that  makes  hard- 
ship ;  it's  the  way  he  looks  at  'em.  I  found 
that  out,  'most  the  first  thing,  when  I 
come  to  Nebrasky.  I  used  to  sleep  a  sight 
sounder  and  peacefuler  than  I'm  goin'  to 
sleep  to-night,  them  times  when  I'd  lay  out 
on  the  ground,  all  kinds  of  weather,  with 
nothin'  but  my  blanket.  Same  principle,  I've 
been  a  sight  worse  scared  when  I  got  a  bum- 
blebee up  the  leg  of  my  breeches  than  I  was 
one  time  when  I  rode  like  blazes  three  mile, 
when  the  Sioux  run  me  into  camp,  with  my 
right  leg  pinned  fast  to  my  saddle  with  an 
arrow.  It  just  depends  on  how  you  look  at 
it.  And  there  was  Sam  Weeks,  that  I 
knowed  when  I  was  scoutin'.  Did  I  ever  tell 
you  about  him  ? 

153 


1 54          Private  Sam  Weeks 

"  'Twas  when  we  was  policin'  the  Upper 
Platte  country,  the  times  they  was  runnin' 
the  surveys,  and  Sam,  he  come  to  the  post 
with  a  bunch  of  rookies  that  was  sent  out 
from  Omaha.  He  was  a  funny  chap,  for  a 
soldier.  We  was  most  of  us  pretty  tolerable 
stout  and  hearty;  but  Sam,  he  was  a  long, 
slim,  wobbly  kind  of  a  critter,  that  didn't 
have  no  more  shape  to  him  than  a  new- 
dropped  lamb.  He  looked  like  the  meat  on 
him  had  been  jerked.  He  walked  with  his 
shoulders  all  humped  up,  and  his  legs  looked 
as  if  they  had  six  or  seven  j'ints  in  'em.  Me 
and  him  was  in  the  same  mess,  so  I  got  to 
know  about  him.  He  said  he  belonged  in 
Conne'tikit,  and  before  he  j'ined  he'd  been 
knockin'  'round  a  good  bit  and  havin'  a 
pretty  hard  time  of  it. 

"  Well,  there  was  one  blazin'  hot  day  at 
the  post,  when  we  was  all  outdoors,  layin' 
'round  in  the  shadder  of  the  buildin's;  and 
after  bit  I  went  in  to  get  my  pipe  that  I'd  left 
under  my  bunk;  and  there  was  Sam.  He 


Private  Sam  Weeks          155 

was  layin'  in  his  bunk,  and  he'd  got  the  dog- 
gonedest  litter  of  books  I  ever  seen — seemed 
like  he'd  got  two  in  each  hand,  besides  a  lot 
more  that  was  layin'  open  in  his  lap,  and 
down  on  the  floor  and  everywheres.  When  I 
come  in  on  him  it  bothered  him,  and  he 
started  to  scramble  'em  up  and  hide  'em 
under  his  blankets,  till  I  says,  '  What  you 
doin',  Sam  ? '  '  Oh,  nothin','  he  says.  I 
never  was  much  of  a  hand  for  books,  but  I 
picked  up  one  that  was  layin'  handy  and 
started  to  turn  back  to  where  it  commenced, 
and  I  seen  'twas  all  printed  out  in  some 
ornery  kind  o'  talk  that  looked  to  me  like 
Chinee  wash-tickets.  I  couldn't  find  a  word 
I  knowed,  and  pretty  soon  I  says,  '  Sam, 
what  kind  o'  truck  is  it,  anyway  ?  '  and  Sam 
says  'twas  Jew.  '  Jew  ?  '  I  says.  '  Why, 
Sam,  your  name  don't  sound  like  a  Jew 
name.  Was  your  Ma  one? '  '  Nop,'  Sam 
says.  '  What  you  doin'  with  a  Jew  book 
then  ? '  I  says,  and  Sam  says  he'd  learned  to 
read  Jew  when  he  was  to  school.  I  guess  I 


156          Private  Sam  Weeks 

was  pretty  young ;  I  thought  he  was  coddin' 
me,  but  I  didn't  want  to  let  on  to  him  I  didn't 
know  any  better,  and  I  picked  up  another 
one.  Honest,  I  couldn't  tell  which  was  right 
side  up.  '  Why,  they're  all  Jew,'  I  says;  but 
Sam  just  laughed.  '  That  one's  Greek,'  he 
says;  and  come  to  find  out,  he  didn't  have 
hardly  a  United  States  book  in  the  whole  out- 
fit, only  two  or  three,  and  them  was  all  tore, 
with  the  covers  half  off  of  'em,  and  mighty 
little  account.  I  begun  to  feel  kind  o'  sorry 
for  him;  and  after  a  while,  just  to  humour 
him,  I  begun  tellin'  him  about  Sioux  talk. 
He  was  mighty  bright,  I'll  say  that  for  him. 
It  had  took  me  'most  two  years  to  pick  up 
what  little  I  knowed  of  Sioux ;  but  he  had  it 
all  learnt,  every  bit  I  told  him,  before  supper- 
call,  and  he  was  as  tickled  as  a  kid  that's 
got  a  new  toy  to  play  with.  I  reckoned  he 
must  get  powerful  lonesome,  mebbe,  away 
off  there  from  his  folks,  with  nothin'  but 
them  dirty  old  foreigner  books ;  and  so  next 
time  I  got  where  I  could,  I  bought  him  a 


Private  Sam  Weeks          157 

bran'-  new  one.  I  disremember  the  name  of 
it,  but  it  was  a  powerful  interestin'  book, 
about  a  young  chap  that  had  fell  in  love  with 
his  Ma's  hired  girl,  and  the  hard  time  they 
had,  and  'twas  all  fixed  out  with  red  and 
blue  on  the  outside,  and  had  some  crackin' 
good  pictures  in  it.  I  read  it  all  through 
before  I  gave  it  to  him,  and  he  was  mighty 
tickled  to  get  it,  and  it  seemed  like  after  that 
me  and  him  got  pretty  well  acquainted  and 
friendly. 

"  But  the  more  I  knowed  him  the  cur- 
iouser  he  was.  I  liked  most  of  him  first- 
rate;  but  he  was  awful  raw.  He  didn't 
know  the  first  thing  about  real  livin'.  He 
was  a  copule  year  older  than  me,  but  he 
hadn't  never  been  out  on  the  plains  till  then, 
and  he  used  to  like  to  hear  me  tell  about  the 
little  scrapes  I'd  been  in,  fussin'  with  the 
Indians,  and  such  like. 

"  I  remember  one  day  I'd  been  tellin'  him 
a  yarn  about  some  of  my  doin's,  and  I'd  laid 
myself  out  to  tell  it  right;  and  Sam,  he'd 


158          Private  Sam  Weeks 

listened  clear  through,  not  hardly  sayin'  a 
word,  till  towards  the  last  he  stretched  him- 
self out  on  the  ground,  and  after  while  he 
says,  '  Mac,  how  does  a  thing  like  that  make 
you  feel?  '  (  Bully! '  I  says.  '  You  feel  like 
you  wanted  to  live  a  thousand  years/  '  Hon- 
est, true,  don't  you  get  scared  ? '  he  says. 
*  Thunder,  no ! '  I  says.  '  You  don't  have 
time  to  get  scared.  Times  when  I'm  makin' 
a  run  for  my  life,  I  don't  feel  no-ways  but 
just  bully.'  That  was  true,  too;  but  with 
school-learnt  chaps  like  him  it's  hard  to 
make  'em  see  it.  Trouble  is  they  don't  get 
learnt  to  do  things;  they're  mostly  just  learnt 
to  sit  around  and  try  to  figure  out  how  they 
think  they'd  feel  if  they  was  to  happen  to  do 
somethin',  without  expectin'  it.  It  makes  'em 
sickly — same  as  when  a  feller  begins  to  think 
he's  goin'  to  be  sick,  and  spends  his  time 
huntin'  for  pains  in  his  insides  instead  of 
gettin'  out  and  hustlin'.  Sam,  he  says,  '  If 
I  got  ketched  that-a-way,  so  as  I  had  to  stand 
up  for  myself  with  a  gun,  they  wouldn't 


Private  Sam  Weeks          159 

have  to  kill  me;  I'd  be  so  scared  I'd  just 
drop  dead.'  '  No,  you  wouldn't/  I  says.  'A 
man  don't  get  scared  when  he's  too  busy  to 
think  about  it.' 

"  Well,  'twas  only  a  couple  weeks  after 
that  when  me  and  him  was  detailed  to  go  out 
with  a  squad  that  was  goin'  to  guard  one  of 
the  surveyor's  grub-trains.  We  had  to  go 
with  'em  about  a  hunderd  mile  up  the  Platte. 
The  Sioux  was  all  through  that  country, 
more  or  less ;  but  they  hadn't  been  botherin' 
much  lately,  right  around  there,  and  we 
didn't  expect  no  trouble.  There  wa'n't  a 
thing  happened,  goin'  out;  nor  nothin' 
wouldn't  have  happened  comin'  back,  only 
that  me  and  Sam  and  another  feller  asked  to 
be  let  to  strike  off  over  the  hills,  one  day, 
by  ourselves,  huntin'  ant' lope.  We  fooled 
'round  a  good  bit,  gettin'  further  and  further 
back,  without  havin'  no  luck,  and  along  in 
the  middle  of  the  day  we  laid  by,  meanin'  to 
go  on  when  it  got  cooler.  'Twas  near  the 
middle  of  August,  and  powerful  hot  and 


160          Private  Sam  Weeks 

dry.  The  river  was  nothin'  but  a  creek,  and 
some  places  there'd  be  miles  and  miles  where 
the  water  'd  go  clear  down  under  the  sand, 
out  o'  sight.  There  was  lots  of  little  creek- 
beds  that  we  crossed,  back  in  the  hills,  but 
they  was  all  dry  as  powder.  That  country's 
no  good  in  a  drought  spell.  The  wind  was 
blowin'  hot,  too,  and  driftin'  a  heap  of  alkali 
dust,  that  cracked  our  lips  and  made  our 
eyes  smart  like  fire.  We  got  on  tolerable 
well  though,  and  Sam  never  whimpered. 

"  Then  in  the  evening  just  after  we'd  got 
started  to  go  on,  the  other  feller  that  was 
with  us,  he  says,  '  Look  ahead,  there.  What's 
that?'  I  couldn't  see  nothin',  only  a  little 
cloud  of  dust,  mebbe  three  mile  away,  and  I 
reckoned  'twas  the  wind;  but  the  other  feller 
says,  '  No,  'tain't,  because  I  been  watchin'  it 
It's  movin'  too  regular.'  We  looked  at  it  a 
minute,  and  then  he  says,  '  It's  a  couple  In- 
dians ;  I  can  see  their  lances.'  His  eyes  was 
a  sight  better  than  mine.  I  couldn't  see  'em, 
that  far  off;  but  pretty  soon  I  seen  'em. 


Private  Sam  Weeks          161 

'They're  Indians,  Sam,'  I  says.  Sam,  he'd 
rode  his  horse  up  close  to  me,  and  I  seen  by 
the  look  of  him  he  didn't  know  how  to  take 
it.  The  only  Indians  he'd  ever  seen  had  been 
them  that  come  into  the  post  and  hung 
around  there,  tradin'.  He  begun  to  fidget, 
and  he  says,  '  Be  you  goin'  to  keep  right 
on  ?  '  '  Sure/  I  says.  '  Why,  what  else 
would  you  do,  Sam  ?  '  '  Oh,  I  don't  know/ 
he  says.  '  I  didn't  know  but  mebbe  you 
might  be  wantin'  to  sneak  back  in  the  hills  a 
ways  and  hide.'  'Hide!'  I  says.  '  What 
would  be  the  use  ?  They  seen  us,  a  half-hour 
ago,  long  before  we  seen  them.'  But  Sam, 
he  looked  pretty  much  worried.  Soon  as 
they'd  got  up  closter,  the  other  feller  says, 
'  They're  up  to  some  devilment.  They're 
plum  naked,  and  all  painted  up  like  a  red  and 
yeller  sunset/  With  that,  Sam,  he  edged 
his  horse  in  between  us,  and  the  sweat  begun 
to  break  out  on  him.  I  had  to  laugh.  '  Why, 
Sam/  I  says;  'you  ain't  scared,  are  you?' 
Sam,  his  chin  was  tremblin'  so  he  couldn't 


1 62          Private  Sam  Weeks 

hardly  talk ;  but  he  says,  real  pitiful,  '  Yes, 
I  be/  '  Oh,  your  granny ! '  I  says.  '  Why, 
Sam,  there  ain't  but  two  of  'em/  l  But  they 
got  their  war-paint  on/  Sam  says.  '  Well, 
what  of  it  ?  '  I  says.  'A  white  man's  always 
got  his  war-paint  on.'  But  he  wa'n't  a  bit 
easy  in  his  mind;  he  made  his  horse  'most 
crazy,  pullin'  and  haulin'  on  the  bridle  and 
makin'  him  jig  round  in  the  dust. 

"  We  rode  up  till  we  was  a  hunderd  yards 
or  so  from  'em,  and  then  I  held  up  my  hand 
and  made  the  sign  for  'em  to  stop ;  and  they 
drawed  in  their  ponies,  and  then  I  signed  to 
'em  to  know  who  they  was.  One  of  'em,  he 
lifted  his  hand  and  fetched  it  across  his 
throat,  meanin'  they  was  Sioux,  and  he  said 
they  was  friendly.  We  rode  up  to  'em,  and 
we  seen  they  was  a  couple  scouts  for  some 
kind  of  a  war-party,  by  the  way  they  was 
trigged  out.  There  hadn't  been  no  fightin', 
that  I'd  heerd  about,  for  six  months ;  and  so 
I  reckoned  they'd  been  off  on  a  horse-stealin' 
trip,  or  some  little  thing  like  that. 


Private  Sam  Weeks          163 

"After  we'd  got  out  of  sight  from  the 
scouts,  we  misdoubted  what  we  was  goin'  to 
do  about  the  main  band.  At  first  I  said  they 
was  sure  friendly,  or  else  them  scouts 
wouldn't  have  come  on  to  meet  us;  they'd 
have  turned  back  to  the  main  band  as  soon 
as  they  seen  us.  But  the  other  feller  said 
mebbe  they  did  send  a  man  back;  how  was 
we  to  know?  He  argued  we'd  better  strike 
off  from  the  trail  and  get  in  the  hills  and 
wait  till  they'd  passed,  because  he  said  if 
they'd  been  out  on  a  big  steal  they'd  likely  be 
reckless,  and  there  wa'n't  no  tellin'  what 
they'd  do.  But  I  told  'em  we'd  just  keep 
straight  on;  and  that's  what  we  done. 
'Twas  some  foolish,  I  reckon;  but  seemed 
like  I  never  could  learn  to  be  scared  of 
Indians. 

"  'Long  about  dark  we  seen  there'd  been 
fires  built  ahead,  and  we  judged  'twas  the 
Sioux  gone  into  camp.  The  dust  had  been 
blowin'  all  day,  and  the  air  was  full  of  it, 
and  that  made  their  fires  show  up  pretty 


1 64         Private  Sam  Weeks 

strong,  so  we  could  see  'em  a  long  way.  I 
wanted  to  see  what  they  looked  like.  I 
judged  they  wouldn't  have  no  advance-guard 
out,  more  than  them  scouts  we'd  seen,  be- 
cause when  they're  comin'  back  home  from 
a  trip  like  that  they  don't  have  no  particular 
guard  out,  only  to  the  rear,  in  case  they're 
follered.  So  we  went  in  pretty  clost  to  'em, 
mebbe  half  a  mile,  till  we  come  to  a  dry  creek 
that  crossed  the  trail,  and  then  we  struck  up 
the  creek  so  as  to  get  up  on  the  hills  and 
kind  o'  nose  'round.  After  we'd  gone  as 
far  as  I  liked  to  on  the  horses,  I  told  'em 
we'd  leave  the  other  feller  down  there  in  the 
creek  to  mind  the  critters,  and  me  and  Sam 
would  go  on  afoot.  Sam  didn't  want  to  go ; 
you'd  have  thought  he  was  afraid  I  was 
goin'  to  take  him  out  in  the  brush  and  mur- 
der him,  he  was  so  scared.  His  face  was 
actually  shiny  in  the  dark,  and  he  says,  '  Oh, 
Mac,  for  the  Lord's  sake,  don't  let's !  Please 
lemme  stay  down  here  with  the  horses,  and 
you  two  go  up.'  I  had  to  ketch  him  by  the 


Private  Sam  Weeks          165 

arm  and  pull  him  with  me ;  he  was  so  scared 
and  weak,  I  'most  had  to  carry  him.  But 
we  crep'  up  till  we  got  where  we  could  lay 
down  flat  on  top  o'  the  hill  and  look  down 
to  the  camp. 

"  'Twas  like  we'd  figured  it  out.  They'd 
got  a  rattlin'  big  bunch  of  ponies,  and  there 
was  some  o'  the  bucks  herdin'  'em  clost  to 
camp.  There  was  about  a  dozen  bucks  in 
the  party,  and  I  judged  they  must  have  had 
a  pretty  good  trip,  the  way  they  was  actin', 
racketin'  'round  like  they  didn't  care  for 
nobody.  Me  and  Sam,  we  laid  there 
watchin'  'em  for  mebbe  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 
'Twas  mighty  interestin'  for  Sam,  after  his 
scare  had  wore  off  some,  and  he  begun 
pesterin'  me  with  all  kinds  o'  questions,  till 
after  while  I  seen  there  was  some  kind  of  a 
fuss  amongst  'em,  and  there  was  one  o'  the 
bucks  come  in  towards  the  fire,  draggin'  a 
woman  by  the  arm.  I  told  Sam  to  watch, 
because  she'd  been  took  prisoner,  likely.  She 
was  mighty  unwillin',  and  kep'  pullin'  her- 


j  66          Private  Sam  Weeks 

self  away  from  the  buck,  the  best  she  could, 
till  they'd  got  in  near  to  the  fire,  and  while 
the  buck  had  his  arm  around  her,  we  seen  her 
reach  up  and  grab  her  hands  in  his  hair.  He 
was  beginnin'  to  mishandle  her,  shameful, 
and  the  rest  of  'em  settin'  'round,  watchin', 
and  we  could  hear  'em  gruntin'  and  laughin' ; 
but  after  while  there  was  one  o'  the  old  men 
got  up  and  made  the  buck  quit  his  foolish- 
ness, and  made  the  woman  seddown. 

"  Sam,  he'd  got  up  on  his  knees,  while  we 
was  lookin'  at  'em,  and  I  couldn't  make  him 
lay  down.  '  What  they  doin'  ?  '  he  says. 
'  Nothin','  I  says,  '  only  she's  a  Winnebago, 
or  Omaha,  that  they  took  when  they  was 
stealin'  the  ponies.  Lay  down,  you  fool/ 
I  says,  '  or  they'll  see  you.'  '  But  what  be 
they  goin'  to  do  with  her  ? '  he  says ;  and  I 
says,  '  Oh,  nothin',  I  tell  you,  only  same  as 
they  do  with  all  the  women  they  ketch. 
They'll  take  her  home  with  'em,  and  one  of 
'em  '11  have  her  for  his'n.  Now  you  lay 
down,  or  I'll  be  dummed  if  I  don't  make 


Private  Sam  Weeks          167 

you.'  Their  fire  was  blazin'  up  big,  and  if 
they'd  had  anybody  watchin'  'twould  've 
been  easy  for  'em  to  see  him.  I  grabbed  him 
by  the  arm  and  pulled  him  down  beside  me. 
'  Keep  still!'  I  says;  'she's  nothin'  but  a 
squaw.'  But  Sam,  he  was  mad.  '  She's  a 
woman,'  he  says,  '  and  I  ain't  goin'  to  have 
'em  treatin'  her  that-a-way.'  '  What  you 
goin'  to  do  about  it  ? '  I  says ;  and  Sam,  he 
laid  his  rifle  down  on  the  ground,  in  front  of 
him,  and  he  says,  '  If  I  see  ary  one  of  'em 
lift  his  hand  to  her  again,  I'll  plug  him.'  I 
had  to  laugh.  '  What's  it  to  you  ?  '  I  says  ; 
'  she's  nothin'  but  a  squaw,  don't  I  tell  you  ? 
She's  used  to  it.'  But  Sam,  he  wouldn't 
have  it.  '  She's  a  woman,  don't  I  tell  you? ' 
he  says,  l  and  I  ain't  been  used  to  seein'  a 
woman  mistreated,  no  matter  who  she  is, 
unless  I  got  somethin'  to  say  about  it  myself/ 
So  we  just  laid  and  watched  'em  a  spell 
longer,  and  pretty  soon  Sam,  he  says,  '  Say, 
Mac,  ain't  there  some  way  we  could  get 
her  ? '  '  What  in  thunder  do  you  want  to 


1 68          Private  Sam  Weeks 

get  her  for?'  I  says.  'Oh,  I  don*  know/ 
he  says,  '  only  I  just  want  to  get  her  out  o' 
that.  I  can't  think  of  no  way  to  do  it/  he 
says,  '  but  I'm  goin'  to  make  a  try  for  it, 
anyhow.'  Ever  hear  such  foolishness! 
'  No,  there  ain't  no  way/  I  says.  '  If  there 
was  half  a  dozen  of  us,  mebbe  we  might ;  but 
it's  too  risky,  with  only  us  three.  Come  on/ 
I  says;  '  let's  go  back.'  But  Sam,  he 
wouldn't  budge.  *  No,  sir ! '  he  says ;  and 
then  he  says,  '  If  you  was  goin'  to  try  it, 
which  way  would  you  do  it,  Mac? '  I  just 
laid  there  on  the  ground  and  swore.  '  There 
ain't  no  way  to  do  it/  I  says,  'except  to  sneak 
down  after  they're  sleepin';  and  who  the 
Dickens  wants  to  take  chances  like  that  for  a 
squaw?'  'Why/  Sam  says,  'if  you're 
scared  to  go,  I'll  do  it.'  Hear  him  talk! 
'  Scared ! '  I  says ;  '  scared !  No,  I  ain't 
scared ;  but  I  ain't  a  forsooken  idiot,  neither.' 
I  took  hold  of  him  and  tried  to  make  him  go 
back  with  me;  but  he  wouldn't.  If  ever  I 
was  sorry  for  anything,  'twas  for  bringin' 


Private  Sam  Weeks          169 

* 

him  along  with  me.  He  wouldn't  listen  to 
me,  not  for  a  minute ;  seemed  like  when  he'd 
set  his  head,  I  couldn't  turn  him.  Some- 
how, I  can't  help  likin'  them  kind  o'  fellers ; 
but  they  do  make  a  sight  of  trouble.  The 
more  I  listened  to  Sam,  the  more  I  knowed 
I'd  either  have  to  j'ine  in  with  him  or  else 
go  off  and  leave  him;  and  of  course  there 
wa'n't  but  one  thing  to  do,  and  after  while 
I  says,  '  All  right,  Sam ;  we'll  give  her  a 
try/  I  don't  know :  while  I  was  lay  in'  there, 
listenin'  to  him  gabblin',  and  watchin'  them 
Sioux  actin'  so  contrary,  like  they  owned  all 
creation,  seemed  like  I  begun  to  itch,  and  I 
begun  to  look  'round  to  see  the  best  way  to 
crawl  up  on  'em,  without  runnin'  too  much 
risk  of  bein'  ketched.  Sam,  he  didn't  know 
no  more  about  the  risk  than  a  rabbit.  I  did, 
though ;  but  it  didn't  stop  me.  I  used  to  be 
terrible  reckless,  when  I  was  a  youngster; 
and  the  worst  of  it  was  I  used  to  go  into 
my  devilment  with  my  eyes  open,  but  blind. 
The  boys  used  to  say  that  all  that  saved  me, 


170          Private  Sam  Weeks 

lots  of  times,  was  me  bein'  such  an  awful 
fool,  and  the  Lord  always  lookin'  after  fools, 
some  way.  Don't  matter.  We  made  up 
our  minds  what  to  do. 

"  After  we'd  got  the  thing  fixed,  I  left 
Sam  there,  to  watch  out,  and  I  went  back 
and  told  the  other  feller  what  we  was  goin' 
to  do.  He  was  willin'  enough,  because  we 
hadn't  had  much  fun  yet,  that  trip ;  and  me 
and  him,  we  tied  the  ponies  up  in  a  bunch  of 
willers  that  was  growin'  in  the  creek-bed, 
and  then  we  went  back  to  Sam.  The  way 
we'd  fixed  it,  we  was  to  wait  till  the  Sioux 
was  sleepin',  and  then  one  of  us  was  to  sneak 
down  and  try  to  get  in  close  enough  to  let 
the  squaw  know  we  was  there,  and  get  her  to 
come  out,  if  she  could.  We  knowed  she'd 
come,  if  she  seen  we  was  white,  because  the 
Omahas  and  Winnebagos,  whichever  she 
was,  had  always  been  friendly  with  the 
whites.  We  laid  there  on  the  hill  for  an 
hour  before  the  Sioux  begun  to  quiet  down. 
They'd  been  havin'  a  mighty  good  time, 


Private  Sam  Weeks          171 

smokin'  and  talkin';  but  after  while  there 
was  two  or  three  of  'em  that  wrapped  their- 
selves  up  in  their  blankets  and  laid  down, 
and  'twa'n't  long  till  they  was  all  stretched 
out.  What  made  it  look  mean,  though,  was 
that  this  buck  with  the  woman  had  took  and 
tied  one  of  her  arms  to  his'n,  so  as  she 
wouldn't  hardly  be  able  to  move  without 
wakin'  him  up.  That  didn't  look  good, 
because  it  meant  I'd  likely  have  to  crawl 
clear  down  close  and  take  big  chances. 
We'd  fixed  it  so  I  was  to  be  the  one  to  go. 
Sam,  he  wanted  to,  because  he  said  'twas  his 
doin's;  but  we  wouldn't  let  him,  and  me  and 
the  other  feller  had  pulled  straws  for  it,  and 
I  got  it.  I  was  goin'  to  take  just  my  knife 
and  pistols,  and  they  was  to  lay  up  there 
on  top  o'  the  hill,  with  their  rifles,  and  they 
wa'n't  to  move  without  they  just  had  to. 

"  Well,  when  the  Sioux  had  got  fixed  for 
night,  'twa'n't  but  a  little  while  till  their  fire 
died  down.  They  didn't  have  nothin'  but 
dry  brush  to  make  a  fire  with,  and  it  didn't 


172          Private  Sam  Weeks 

last.  I  waited  a  while,  and  then  I  started 
down  the  hill,  goin'  on  my  hands  and  knees, 
and  keepin'  hid  behind  the  brush-patches  as 
much  as  I  could.  There  was  brush  growin' 
up  to  within  twenty  yards  or  so  of  the  fire; 
only  'twas  scattered,  so  as  I  had  to  get  down 
on  my  belly  and  wiggle  acrost  the  bare 
places.  Pretty  soon  I  raised  up  and  looked 
over  the  top,  to  locate  the  squaw,  and  while 
I  was  up  on  my  knees  I  heerd  a  little  noise 
behind  me;  and  there  was  Sam,  comin' 
crawlin'  after  me!  Land,  land,  how  I  did 
sweat !  If  he'd  been  in  reach  of  me,  I'd  've 
felt  like  runnin'  my  knife  in  him.  I  jerked 
my  head  for  him  to  lay  down,  and  then  I 
backed  out  to  where  he  was,  just  fair  grittin' 
my  teeth,  I  was  so  mad.  '  We  couldn't  see 
you/  Sam  whispers.  *  It's  too  dark,  with 
the  fire  'most  out,  and  I  couldn't  stand  it/' 
'  Well,  darn  a  fool,  any  way ! '  I  says ;  and 
then  I  talked  mighty  tolerable  straight  to 
him,  till  I  made  him  swear  he  wouldn't  move 
an  eye-winker  till  I  told  him.  'Twas  bad 


Private  Sam  Weeks          173 

enough,  without  havin'  him  to  look  after.  I 
didn't  know  what  to  make  of  him.  He  was 
shakin'  all  over,  just  like  a  cold  pup ;  but  he 
wouldn't  be  satisfied  till  he'd  got  to  a  place 
where  he  could  see  what  was  goin'  on,  and 
even  then  he  just  begged  to  go,  instead  of 
me.  But  I  crep'  back  to  where  I'd  been, 
behind  the  brush.  The  squaw  wa'n't  but 
about  ten  yards  from  me.  I  just  laid  flat  on 
the  ground,  where  I  could  keep  my  eye  on 
her,  and  I  begun  to  make  a  lot  of  little  noises, 
like  crickets,  and  different  kinds  o'  bugs.  I 
misdoubted  if  she'd  be  sleepin'  right  hearty, 
after  what  had  happened ;  and  pretty  soon  I 
seen  her  turn  over  and  lift  up  on  her  arm, 
like  she  was  listenin'.  I  kep'  on,  chirpin' 
and  squeakin',  till  she'd  got  me  located  and 
looked  out  my  way,  and  then  I  took  off  my 
hat  and  reached  it  out  from  behind  the 
brush,  makin'  motions  with  it;  and  then  I 
raised  up  slow,  till  she  could  see  my  face. 
She  was  onto  her  job,  all  right;  she  never 
made  a  move  nor  a  sound.  I  signed  to  her 


174          Private  Sam  Weeks 

what  I  was  tryin'  to  do,  and  then  I  took  my 
knife  out  o'  the  sheath  and  crep'  in  a  ways 
further  till  I  got  where  I  reckoned  I  could 
pitch  the  knife  to  her  and  let  her  cut  herself 
loose.  The  knife  lit  right  between  her  and 
the  buck,  and  the  blade  hit  a  little  rock.  I'd 
ought  to  've  knowed  better !  It  sounded  like 
a  clap  o'  thunder,  and  the  buck,  he  begun  to 
move  and  throw  his  blanket  off  him.  The 
squaw,  she  snatched  the  knife  and  slashed 
her  arm  loose  and  then  she  made  a  break 
for  it ;  but  the  buck  set  up  and  ketched  hold 
of  her.  He  wa'n't  rightly  wide  awake,  so 
he  didn't  have  his  full  strength,  and  she 
jerked  away  from  him  and  begun  to  run ;  but 
he  let  out  a  screech  and  jumped  up  and 
started  after  her ;  and  he'd  have  ketched  her, 
too,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Sam.  I'd  got 
back  behind  the  bushes  by  then,  nigh 
par'lysed,  and  cussin'  Sam's  fool  idea  for  all 
I  was  worth,  under  my  breath;  and  then 
Sam  let  go  with  his  rifle,  and  I  seen  the  buck 
drop. 


Private  Sam  Weeks          175 

"  The  whole  camp  was  waked  up  by  then, 
of  course.  They  didn't  know  what.  'Twas 
mighty  lucky  for  us  the  fire  was  low.  I 
called  to  Sam  and  the  squaw  to  foller  me, 
and  then  struck  off  in  a  different  direction 
from  what  I'd  come,  makin'  all  kinds  of 
noise,  till  we'd  got  out  a  ways  in  the  dark; 
and  then  we  turned  off  and  made  a  break  for 
the  hill,  doublin'  back  on  our  tracks  and 
keepin'  mighty  still.  The  Sioux  begun 
shootin'  after  us,  the  way  they  thought  we 
was  goin'.  I  knowed  they  wouldn't  foller 
us  till  they'd  got  on  their  ponies,  because  a 
Sioux  ain't  no  manner  of  good  while  he's 
afoot,  and  he  knows  it.  That  give  us  a 
minute  or  two  start.  They  throwed  a  lot 
of  dry  brush  on  the  fire,  and  it  begun  to 
blaze  up;  but  by  then  we  was  up  to  the  top 
o'  the  hill,  where  we'd  left  the  other  feller, 
and  then  we  all  broke  down  to  where  the 
ponies  was  tied.  Sam,  he  made  a  jump  for 
the  saddle;  but  I  ketched  hold  of  him. 
'  That's  no  way,  Sam/  I  says.  '  We'll  have 


176         Private  Sam  Weeks 

to  let  the  ponies  go.'  I  knowed  them  Sioux 
would  be  hikin'  'round  everywhere,  right 
off,  and  there  was  too  many  of  'em,  so  we 
must  do  somethin'  to  put  'em  off  our  trail. 
So  I  cut  the  ponies  loose,  and  turned  'em 
with  their  heads  towards  the  trail,  and  then  I 
took  and  lashed  'em  with  a  stick,  and  they 
started  down  the  creek-bed,  lickity-split,  with 
their  hoofs  poundin'  the  rocks,  and  makin' 
a  terrible  racket.  I  'lowed  the  Sioux  would 
foller  the  noise,  for  a  spell,  till  they  found 
out ;  and  then  we  went  the  other  way,  afoot, 
makin'  all  the  trail  we  knowed  how.  We 
kep'  down  in  the  creek-bed  for  a  spell,  and 
then  we  got  out  on  the  hills,  travellin'  all 
night,  straight  north.  Come  mornin',  we 
laid  by  in  the  brush,  waitin'  for  night  again. 
We  reckoned  the  Sioux  wouldn't  be  able  to 
find  our  trail,  mebbe,  till  day;  and  then 
mebbe  the  wind  would  've  helped  cover  it  up 
with  dust.  So  we  just  laid  down  to  keep 
hid. 

"  It  proves  what  I've  always  said.     Long 


Private  Sam  Weeks         177 

as  a  man  just  keeps  right  on  doin'  things, 
and  not  thinkin',  he's  all  right,  and  it  don't 
make  no  difference ;  but  soon  as  he  sets  down 
and  begins  studyin'  about  what  a  hard  time 
he's  havin',  then's  when  it  gets  him.  That 
was  the  way  it  was  with  us.  All  night  long 
we'd  kep'  on,  stumblin'  over  them  sand-hills, 
once  in  a  while  me  and  the  other  feller  sayin' 
somethin'  to  josh  Sam.  We  didn't  feel  no 
worse  than  if  we  was  kids  runnin'  off  with  a 
watermelon  we'd  stole.  But  after  we'd  hid 
in  the  brush,  and  begun  to  turn  the  thing 
over  in  our  minds,  it  looked  mean.  We 
didn't  have  no  grub,  and  we  didn't  have  but 
less'n  a  pint  of  water  in  our  canteens,  for 
the  whole  four  of  us.  Out  in  them  sand- 
hills it  gets  hot  awful  soon  in  the  mornin', 
summertime.  The  sun  wa'n't  hardly  up  till 
we  begun  to  feel  it,  bad.  Sage-brush  ain't 
no  good  to  keep  the  sun  off,  nohow;  it  just 
makes  a  little  bit  of  thin,  dusty  shadder  that's 
'most  worse  than  none,  it's  so  aggravatin'. 
Twa'n't  long  till  I  was  so  miserable  I'd  'most 


178         Private  Sam  Weeks 

as  soon  have  got  ketched.  The  wind  come 
up,  hotter  'n  it  had  been  the  day  before,  and 
blowin'  the  dust  down  on  us,  thick,  and  our 
eyes  was  smartin'  with  the  alkali.  There 
ain't  nothin'  makes  a  body  feel  so  mean  as 
a  hot  wind  blowin'  on  him,  with  the  fine 
sand  siftin'  in  his  ears  and  down  his  neck. 
Me  and  the  other  feller  was  cussin'  a  blue 
streak,  huntin'  up  a  new  name  for  every 
different  bone  in  Sam's  body,  till  I  begun  to 
feel  sorry  for  him, — only  I  couldn't  stop 
cussin'  him.  We  hadn't  slep'  none  the  night 
before,  and  that  always  makes  a  man  ornery. 
But  Sam,  he  didn't  seem  to  mind  what  we 
said  to  him ;  he  was  too  much  took  up  with 
the  girl.  He  sure  did  set  a  heap  by  her ;  he 
was  as  proud  of  her  as  if  he'd  made  her  him- 
self. She  wa'n't  much  to  look  at,  neither, 
that  I  could  see — only  just  a  Winnebago 
girl,  sixteen  or  seventeen,  and  not  no  better 
lookin'  than  the  general  run  of  'em.  But 
she  sure  looked  all  right  to  Sam.  We 
poured  what  little  water  we  had  into  my 


Private  Sam  Weeks          179 

canteen,  and  every  so  often,  when  we 
couldn't  stand  it  no  longer,  we'd  pass  it 
'round  and  just  barely  wet  our  lips ;  and  Sam 
was  always  mighty  particular  to  see  that  the 
girl  didn't  get  skipped.  Made  me  tired ! 
'Twa'n't  right  human,  I  reckon,  but  I  didn't 
seem  to  care  much  how  thirsty  she  was. 
Sam,  he  couldn't  get  done  talkin'  to  us  about 
her.  '  She's  goin'  home  to  her  folks,'  he 
says,  '  and  they're  all  goin'  to  be  so  happy, 
just  on  account  of  us.  That's  worth  thinkin' 
about,  ain't  it?  '  '  Yes,'  I  says,  '  and  there's 
that  buck-Sioux  you  shot  last  night.  He's 
goin'  home  to  his  folks,  too,  and  they're  all 
goin'  to  be  so  happy,  too,  'count  of  us.' 
Sam,  it  worried  him,  I  could  see.  Matter 
of  fact,  I  didn't  care  how  dead  Sam  had 
killed  him;  but  seemed  like  I  was  bound  to 
say  as  contrary  things  as  I  could. 

"  Well,  by  and  by  I  stood  up  to  take  a  look 
around ;  and  then  I  swore  some  more.  The 
air  was  so  thick  with  dust  I  couldn't  see 
fifty  yards.  And  there  we'd  been,  squattin' 


180         Private  Sam  Weeks 

in  the  brush  for  eight  mortal  hours,  when 
we'd  've  been  just  as  well  hid  goin'  on. 
'  Come  on/  I  says ;  and  we  picked  up  and 
started.  Land,  land !  If  the  Almighty  had 
sent  an  angel  to  us,  out  there,  with  a  pack- 
pony  loaded  with  water  and  grub,  I'd  have 
picked  a  fight  with  him  for  not  comin' 
sooner.  There  ain't  no  tellin'  how  I  felt. 
I  don't  get  that  way  often,  but  when  I  do, 
seems  like  it  goes  clear  to  the  middle  of  me. 
Hungry!  I  could  've  e't  anything.  We'd 
took  the  last  of  our  water,  too. 

"  After  we'd  gone  on  for  a  couple  hours, 
we  come  to  a  deep  canyon,  with  the  walls 
goin'  down  steep.  We  scrambled  down, 
scrapin'  the  hide  off  us  every  jump;  but 
there  wa'n't  no  water  at  the  bottom,  nor 
nothin'  but  just  dry  sand  and  rocks.  I 
thought  it  over  a  good  bit,  figurin'  out  the 
meanest  thing  I  could  say  to  Sam,  and  then 
I  says,  '  Sam,  what  did  the  fellers  in  your 
mouldy  old  Jew  books  do  when  they  was 
thirsty  ?  '  Sam,  he  looked  at  me  a  minute, 


Private  Sam  Weeks          1 8 1 

kind  o'  pitiful,  and  he  says,  slow,  '  There  was 
one  of  'em  that  belted  the  water  out  of  a 
rock/  With  that  he  hauled  off  with  his  foot 
and  kicked  one  of  the  stones  that  was  layin' 
there,  and  it  rolled  over  and  showed  the  sand 
was  damp  under  it.  I  just  yelled ;  and  then 
I  dropped  down  on  my  knees  and  begun 
diggin'  with  my  hands,  like  a  dog  after  a 
chipmunk.  The  whole  of  us  started  to 
diggin',  usin'  our  hands  and  our  knives.  I 
tore  my  fingers  shameful,  because  the  sand 
was  full  of  sharp  stones ;  but  we  didn't  seem 
to  get  no  closter  to  water,  even  two  foot 
down.  I  could  've  cried,  I  was  so  dis- 
app'inted,  if  it  would  've  done  any  good; 
but  a  feller  don't  cry  nothin'  but  salt  water, 
nohow.  We  tried  scrapin'  up  a  little  of  the 
damp  sand  and  puttin'  it  in  our  mouths,  to 
suck;' but  the  sand  worked  under  our  tongues 
and  down  our  throats,  and  it  hurt  like  blazes. 
The  squaw,  she'd  been  peckin'  'round  in  the 
rocks,  here  and  there;  and  pretty  soon  she 
come  back  to  us  with  a  little  handful  of  dry, 


1 82         Private  Sam  Weeks 

bilious-lookin'  moss  she'd  peeled  off,  and 
told  us  to  chaw  on  it.  'Twas  full  of  grit. 
It  smelled  a  good  bit  like  a  lady's  handker- 
chief, and  tasted  like  a  horse-blanket ;  but  we 
e't  it,  and  it  helped  some.  But  not  much. 
The  inside  of  my  throat  felt  like  the  inside  of 
a  fur  boot,  and  I  was  so  empty  I  could  feel 
the  front  of  my  stomach  rubbin'  against  my 
backbone.  We  just  set  there  and  rested  for 
a  spell,  and  then  we  went  on. 

"  Come  night,  I  actually  didn't  care.  Me 
and  Sam,  our  tongues  was  swelled  so  by 
then  that  our  mouths  wouldn't  go  shut ;  and 
the  other  two  wa'n't  much  better  off.  We 
was  clean  tuckered  out,  and  we  couldn't 
hardly  stagger  another  step.  After  the  sun 
set,  the  wind  begun  to  die  down,  and  after 
while  we  could  see  the  stars — just  a  big  one, 
here  and  there.  They  looked  mighty  sickly ; 
but  they  helped  us  a  heap,  because  they  told 
us  which  way  we  was  goin'.  It  got  a  little 
mite  cooler,  by  and  by,  and  we  laid  down  for 
a  spell,  and  we  was  so  beat  out  we  went  to 


Private  Sam  Weeks          183 

sleep,  all  of  us.  When  I  waked  up,  I  was 
actually  chilly,  and  I  felt  damp — on  my 
hands,  and  on  my  face,  and  on  my  whiskers. 
When  I  put  my  hand  up,  my  beard  was  wet. 
'Twas  dew.  I  ain't  never  goin'  to  tell  you 
how  it  happened,  out  there  in  the  sand-hills, 
that  time  o'  year,  unless  it  was  some  of  the 
Lord's  work.  But  I  knowed  we  was  all 
right  then.  I  waked  the  rest  of  'em  up,  and 
showed  'em  what  to  do.  The  brush  and 
stuff  that  was  growin'  'round  was  all 
speckled  over  with  little  shiny  drops,  and  us 
fellers  took  off  the  handkerchiefs  we  had 
'round  our  necks  and  went  to  work,  real 
easy,  wipin'  the  dew  off  the  leaves.  It's  a 
trick  a  soldier  learnt  me  once,  and  it's  worth 
knowin'.  We  kep'  wipin'  and  wipin'  till  our 
handkerchiefs  was  soaked,  and  then  we 
tipped  our  heads  back  and  squeezed  the 
water  in  our  mouths.  It  saved  my  life,  and 
I  know  it.  We  just  kep'  on,  hours  and 
hours,  till  mornin',  wipin'  and  squeezin',  till 
we'd  drunk  all  we  wanted  and  got  'most  half 


184         Private  Sam  Weeks 

a  canteen  full  besides.  Next  mornin'  we 
felt  mighty  different,  now  I  tell  you !  'Twas 
a  cooler  day,  too,  and  we  judged  'twould  be 
safe  to  strike  towards  the  trail  where  our 
squad  was.  We  e't  our  moss  till  the  middle 
of  the  mornin',  and  then  I  shot  a  jack-rabbit 
and  cooked  it;  and  by  evenin'  we  was  so 
close  down  that  we  seen  a  couple  of  our  fel- 
lers ridin'  over  the  hills,  lookin'  for  us. 
We  was  all  right  then. 

"But  what  do  you  reckon  Sam  done? 
He  had  a  sick  spell,  after  a  bit,  and  got  his 
discharge ;  and  then  he  didn't  do  a  thing  but 
go  back  to  the  Winnebago  reservation  and 
stay  there,  and  take  up  with  that  girl. 
That's  just  exactly  the  very  thing  he  done. 
If  you  ever  happen  to  meet  up  with  any  half- 
breed  Winnebagos  that  knows  how  to  talk 
Jew,  you'll  know  they  belong  to  Sam." 

THE   END 


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THE   ROMANCE  OF   PISCATOR 

BY  HENRY    WYSHAM   LANIER.    With     Frontispiece   by   WM. 

BALFOUR  KER. 

A  tale  of  how  the  trout  and  landlocked  salmon  temporarily 
lost  their  magic  for  Piscator  before  the  mightier  spells  cast  by 
the  Peri;  how  he  was  greatly  tempted  by  circumstance,  and 
offended  ;  how  complications  ensued  when  he  followed  the  Peri 
and  her  "  anglemaniac  "  father  ;  and  of  wanderings,  adven- 
tures, more  fishing — frequent  fishing — and  an  embarrassing 
climax. 

THE  MICMAC 

By  S.  CARLETON.    With  three  decorations  by  ADAM  EMPIE. 

Though  in  this  tale  four  "  humans  "  are  duly  human,  and  excite 
our  sympathy  and  interest,  the  great  Micmac  swamp  in  Nova 
Scotia  dominates  the  action.  Perhaps  the  most  striking  "  human" 
is  the  fascinating  and  unscrupulous  Mrs.  Marescaux,  who  comes 
to  the  hero  in  his  camp  in  the  deep  woods.  Through  her  mach- 
nations  he  and  the  heroine  have  to  face  many  grim  adventures 
and  death  is  often  imminent.  How  it  comes,  or  if  it  comes,  we 
will  not  tell.  Indian  and  half-breed  themes  add  picturesqueness. 

UNCLE  MAC'S  NEBRASKY 

BY  WILLIAM  R.  LIGHTON.    Author  of  "  The  Ultimate  Moment," 

etc.    With  Frontispiece  by  W.H.  DUNTON. 

William  R.  Lighten  has  scarcely  a  superior  for  grasp  on  the 
masculine  traits  of  the  earlier  West.  In  this  book  he  gives  bits  of 
conversational  autobiography  from  the  mixed  career  of  "Uncle 
Mac,"  a  genuine  Westerner,  who  went  from  Indiana  in  '55  when 
strenuousness  was  more  a  reality  than  a  fad.  "  Uncle  Mac  "  is  a 
real  live  man,  full  of  shrewd  humor.  His  yarns  are  quite  as 
strange  as  any  truth.  Of  course  there  are  several  lively  frontier 
episodes. 

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by  ELIOT  KEEN. 

The  action  of  this  stirring  tale  occupies  but  a  single  night,  from 
dark  to  dawn.  The  scene  and  period  are  among  the  most  pict- 
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cording to  the  principles  laid  down  by  that  great  historical 
story-teller,  Von  Riehl,  the  principal  characters— a  French  gentle- 
man, sent  by  Charles  V.  to  report  on  the  sentiment  of  the  Floren- 
tines, his  body  servant,  and  the  heroine — are  all  fictitious.  But 
there  are  telling  sketches  of  the  actual  interesting  people  they 
fall  in  with,  including  the  treacherous  banker,  Strozzi  (in  whose 
prison-like  palace  much  of  the  action  passes),  the  dissolute  Duke 
Alessandro,  his  despicable  kinsman  "  Lorenzaccio,"  Cardinal 
Ippolito,  and  others.  Effective  coloured  sketches  of  the  Strozzi 
palace  at  night,  Florence  at  dusk,  and  Fiesole  at  dawn,  embellish 
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of  Lattimore.  Falling  into  their  boy  talk,  they  speak  of  themselves 
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of  a  dream,  and  when  a  mighty  enemy  rises  against  it,  the  two  partners 
regard  their  investors  as  "  the  captives  below  decks,"  and  hold  life 
itself  cheap  in  their  effort  to  protect  them,  and  there  is  a  last  great 
battle  to  save  their  city.  Though  the  main  theme  is  one  of  business 
speculation,  one  of  the  strongest  characters  is  the  girl  Josie,  daughter 
of  an  old  cattleman,  to  whom  she  is  almost  a  mother,  striving  mightily 
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often  passed  for  the  women  that  helped  build  the  West.  Among  the 
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and  a  Southern  Captain  who  works  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  him, 
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of  a  great  tomb,  and  a  repeated  warning  on  an  inner  door,  and  enter 
to  the  utmost  depths  of  this  resting-place  of  one  of  Egypt's  mighty 
dead.  This  is  frankly  a  tale  of  terror  and  of  mystery,  so  impressively 
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how  one  of  the  engineers  still  thought,  though  he  scarcely  believed, 
that  the  strange  and  terrible  experiences  of  his  two  comrades  could  be 
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about  1890,  "  a  time  and  place  of  many  experiments  and  many  an  unde- 
nominated  thing."  The  main  action  covers  only  a  few  weeks.  It 
involves  business,  politics,  religion,  sudden  death,  and  love  at  cross- 
purposes,  the  Acadia  of  youth  and  the  problem  of  old  age.  It  offers 
no  panacea  for  the  municipal  disease,  and  guarantees  no  social  dogma, 
neither  does  it  recommend  despair.  It  suggests  that  charity  is  the 
most  comfortable  attitude  toward  one's  neighbor's  sins,  though  not  neces- 
sarily the  most  useful.  Its  villains  are  not  beyond  human  sympathy, 
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story- telling." 

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fragment  of  life  with  faithfulness  and  power.  .  .  .  He  has  the 
artist's  instinct." 

LAMP: 

"  He  has  originality,  feeling,  humor." 

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^[  An  absorbing  tale  of  a  modern  mystery,  in  which  the 
horror  of  the  opening  situation  is  but  lightly  touched  on, 
and  the  chief  appeal  is  made  by  ingenuity,  dramatic  situ- 
ation, and  suspense.  It  starts  with  the  finding  of  a  New 
York  banker,  stabbed  to  death  in  his  office.  The  lawyer 
who  finally  unravels  the  tangle  does  so  in  a  highly  original 
manner.  There  are  many  stirring  incidents,  while  the 
scenes  shift  from  New  York,  partly  in  the  French  quarter, 
to  an  ocean  steamer  and  to  France. 

NEW  YORK  TRIBUNE  :— 

Professor  Dicey  recently  said  to  a  company  of  students: 
"  If  you  like  a  detective  story  take  care  you  read  a  good  de- 
tective story."  This  is  a  good  detective  story,  and  it  is  the 
better  because  the  part  of  the  hero  is  not  filled  by  a  member 
of  the  profession.  .  .  .  The  reader  will  not  want  to  put  the 
book  down  until  he  has  reached  the  last  page.  This  is  one  of 
the  most  ingeniously  constructed  detective|  stories  we  have 
read  in  a  long  time,  and  it  is  well  written  into  the  bargain. 

KEW  YORK  MAIL  AND  EXPRESS  :— 

Worth  reading  .  .  .  ingenious  without  violating  proba- 
bility. 

SPRINGFIELD  REPUBLICAN  :— 

Unusually  clever. 
BOSTON  TRANSCRIPT  s— 

Developed   with  novelty  and  originality    •    •    •    may  be 

heartily  commended. 

BUFFALO  COMMERCIAL:— 
Of  rare  interest  and  intricacy. 

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